A  ROMANY  OF  THE  SNOWS 


A   ROMANY 
OF   THE    SNOWS 


SECOND   SERIES   OF 

AN   ADVENTURER   OF   THE    NORTH,  BEING 

A  CONTINUATION  OF  "PIERRE  AND  HIS 

PEOPLE "  AND  THE  LATEST  EXISTING 

RECORDS    OF   PRETTY   PIERRE 


BY 

GILBERT   PARKER 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


COPYRIGHT.   1896.    BY   STONE   ft   KIMBALL 


PRINTED   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


Contents 


PAGB 

THREE  COMMANDMENTS  IN  THE  VULGAR  TONGUE  I 

LITTLE  BABICHE  31 

AT   POINT  O'   BUGLES  45 

THE   SPOIL   OF  THE  PUMA  60 

THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SUN  DOGS  90 

THE   PILOT  OF  BELLE   AMOUR  IO2 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  "NINETY-NINE"  128 

A  ROMANY  OF  THE  SNOWS  167 

THE  PLUNDERER  192 


Three  Commandments  in  the 

Vulgar  Tongue 

I 

"  Read  on,  Pierre,"  the  sick  man  said,  doub- 
ling the  corner  of  the  wolf-skin  pillow  so  that  it 
shaded  his  face  from  the  cradle. 

Pierre  smiled  to  himself,  thinking  of  the  un- 
usual nature  of  his  occupation,  raised  an  eye- 
brow as  if  to  some  one  sitting  at  the  other  side  of 
the  fire, — though  the  room  was  empty  save  for 
the  two, — and  went  on  reading  : 

"  Woe  to  the  multitude  of  many  people,  which 
make  a  noise  like  the  noise  of  the  sea;  and  to  the 
rushing  of  nations,  that  make  a  rushing  like  the 
rushing  of  mighty  waters! 

" The  nations  shall  rush  like  the  rushing  of 
many  waters:  but  God  shall  rebuke  them,  and 
they  shall  flee  far  off,  and  shall  be  chased  as  the 
chaff  of  the  mountains  before  the  wind,  and  like 
a  rolling  thing  before  the  whirlwind. 

"And  behold  at  eveningtide  trouble;  and  before 
the  morning  he  is  not.  This  is  the  portion  of  them 
that  spoil  us,  and  the  lot  of  them  that  rob  us." 


2  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

The  sick  man  put  up  his  hand,  motioning  for 
silence,  and  Pierre,  leaving  the  Bible  open,  laid 
it  at  his  side.  Then  he  fell  to  studying  the 
figure  on  the  couch.  The  body,  though  reduced 
by  a  sudden  illness,  had  an  appearance  of  late 
youth,  a  firmness  of  mature  manhood  ;  but  the 
hair  was  grey,  the  beard  was  grizzled;  and  the 
face  was  furrowed  and  seamed  as  though  the 
man  had  lived  a  long,  hard  life.  The  body 
seemed  thirty  years  old,  the  head  sixty ;  the 
man's  exact  age  was  forty-five.  His  most  singu- 
lar characteristic  was  a  fine,  almost  spiritual  in- 
telligence, which  showed  in  the  dewy  brightness 
of  the  eye,  in  the  lighted  face,  in  the  cadenced 
definiteness  of  his  speech.  One  would  have  said, 
knowing  nothing  of  him,  that  he  was  a  hermit, 
but  again,  noting  the  firm,  graceful  outlines  of 
of  his  body,  that  he  was  a  soldier.  Within  the 
past  twenty-four  hours  he  had  had  a  fight  for 
life  with  one  of  the  terrible  "  colds  "  which,  like 
an  unstayed  plague,  close  up  the  course  of  the 
body,  and  carry  a  man  out  of  the  hurly-burly, 
without  pause  to  say  how  much  or  how  little  he 
cares  to  go. 

Pierre,  whose  rude  skill  in  medicine  was  got 
of  hard  experiences  here  and  there,  had  helped 
him  back  into  the  world  again,  and  was  himself 
now  a  little  astonished  at  acting  as  Scripture 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue         3 

reader  to  a  Protestant  invalid.  Still,  the  Bible 
was  like  his  childhood  itself  always  with  him  in 
memory,  and  Old  Testament  history  was  as  wine 
to  his  blood.  The  lofty  tales  sang  in  his  veins  : 
of  primitive  man,  adventure,  mysterious  and  ex- 
alted romance.  For  nearly  an  hour,  with  absorb- 
ing interest,  he  had  read  aloud  from  these  an- 
cient chronicles  to  Fawdor,  who  held  this  post 
of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in  the  outer 
wilderness. 

Pierre  had  arrived  at  the  Post  three  days  be- 
fore, to  find  a  half-breed  trapper  and  an  Indian 
helpless  before  the  sickness  which  was  hurrying 
to  close  on  John  Fawdor's  heart  and  clamp  it  in 
the  vice  of  death.  He  had  come  just  in  time. 
He  was  now  ready  to  learn,  by  what  ways  the 
future  should  show,  why  this  man,  of  such  un- 
usual force  and  power,  should  have  lived  at 
a  desolate  post  in  Labrador  for  twenty -five 
years. 

"This  is  the  portion  of  them  that  spoil  us, 
and  the  lot  of  them  that  rob  us — "  Fawdor 
repeated  the  words  slowly,  and  then  said  :  "  It 
is  good  to  be  out  of  the  restless  world.  Do  you 
know  the  secret  of  life,  Pierre  ?  " 

Pierre's  fingers  unconsciously  dropped  on  the 
Bible  at  his  side,  drumming  the  leaves.  His 
eyes  wandered  over  Fawdor's  face,  and  presently 


4  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

he   answered,    "To   keep  your  own  command- 
ments." 

"The  ten  ?"  asked  the  sick  man,  pointing  to 
the  Bible. 

Pierre's  fingers  closed  the  book.  "  Not  the 
ten,  for  they  do  not  fit  all ;  but  one  by  one  to 
make  your  own,  and  never  to  break  — comme  fa/'1 

"The  answer  is  well,"  returned  Fawdor; 
"  but  what  is  the  greatest  commandment  that  a 
man  can  make  for  himself  ?" 

"Who  can  tell?  What  is  the  good  of  saying, 
'  Thou  shall  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day,'  when  a 
man  lives  where  he  does  not  know  the  days? 
What  is  the  good  of  saying,  'Thou  shall  not 
steal,'  when  a  man  has  no  heart  to  rob,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  steal?  But  a  man  should 
have  a  heart,  an  eye  for  justice.  It  is  good  for 
him  to  make  his  commandments  against  that 
wherein  he  is  a  fool  or  has  a  devil.  Justice,  that 
is  the  thing." 

"'Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness  against 
thy  neighbour'?"  asked  Fawdor  softly. 

"  Yes,  like  that.  But  a  man  must  put  it  in 
his  own  words,  and  keep  the  law  which  he 
makes.  Then  life  does  not  give  a  bad  taste  in 
the  mouth." 

"  What  commandments  have  you  made  for 
yourself,  Pierre?" 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue         5 

The  slumbering  fire  in  Pierre's  face  leaped 
up.  He  felt  for  an  instant  as  his  father,  a  chev- 
alier of  France,  might  have  felt  if  a  peasant  had 
presumed  to  finger  the  orders  upon  his  breast. 
It  touched  his  native  pride,  so  little  shown  in 
anything  else.  But  he  knew  the  spirit  behind 
the  question,  and  the  meaning  justified  the 
man. 

"  Thou  shalt  think  with  the  minds  of  twelve 
men,  and  the  heart  of  one  woman,"  he  said,  and 
paused. 

"Justice  and  mercy,"  murmured  the  voice 
from  the  bed. 

"  Thou  shalt  keep  the  faith  of  food  and 
blanket."  Again  Pierre  paused. 

"  And  a  man  shall  have  no  cause  to  fear  his 
friend,"  said  the  voice  again. 

The  pause  was  longer  this  time,  and  Pierre's 
cold,  handsome  face  took  on  a  kind  of  softness 
before  he  said,  "  Remember  the  sorrow  of  thine 
own  wife." 

"  It  is  a  good  commandment,"  said  the  sick 
man,  "  to  make  all  women  safe  whether  they  be 
true — or  foolish." 

"  The  strong  should  be  ashamed  to  prey  up- 
on the  weak.  Pshaw!  such  a  sport  ends  in  noth- 
ing. Man  only  is  man's  game." 

Suddenly  Pierre  added:  "When  you  thought 


6  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

you  were  going  to  die,  you  gave  me  some  papers 
and  letters  to  take  to  Quebec.  You  will  get 
well.  Shall  I  give  them  back?  Will  you  take 
them  yourself?  " 

Fawdor  understood:  Pierre  wished  to  know 
his  story.  He  reached  out  a  hand,  saying,  "  I 
will  take  them  myself.  You  have  not  read 
them?" 

"No.  I  was  not  to  read  them  till  you  died 
— bien?"  He  handed  the  packet  over. 

"I  will  tell  you  the  story,"  Fawdor  said,  turn- 
ing over  on  his  side,  so  that  his  eyes  rested  full 
on  Pierre. 

He  did  not  begin  at  once.  An  Esquimaux 
dog,  of  the  finest  and  yet  wildest  breed,  which 
had  been  lying  before  the  fire,  stretched  itself, 
opened  its  red  eyes  at  the  two  men,  and,  slowly 
rising,  went  to  the  door  and  sniffed  at  the  cracks. 
Then  it  turned  and  began  pacing  restlessly 
around  the  room.  Every  little  while  it  would 
stop,  sniff  the  air  and  go  on  again.  Once  or 
twice,  also,  as  it  passed  the  couch  of  the  sick 
man,  it  paused,  and  at  last  it  suddenly  rose,  rested 
two  feet  on  the  rude  headboard  of  the  couch,  and 
pushed  its  nose  against  the  invalid's  head. 
There  was  something  rarely  savage  and  yet 
beautifully  soft  in  the  dog's  face,  scarred  as  it 
was  by  the  whips  of  earlier  owners.  The  sick 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue         7 

man's  hand  went  up  and  caressed  the  wolfish 
head.  "Good  dog,  good  Akim!"  he  said  softly 
in  French.  "Thou  dost  know  when  a  storm  is 
on  the  way;  thou  dost  know,  too,  when  there  is 
a  storm  in  my  heart." 

Even  as  he  spoke  a  wind  came  crying  round 
the  house,  and  the  parchment  windows  gave 
forth  a  soft  booming  sound.  Outside,  Nature 
was  trembling  lightly  in  all  her  nerves;  belated 
herons,  disturbed  from  the  freshly  frozen  pool, 
swept  away  on  tardy  wings  into  the  night  and 
to  the  south;  a  herd  of  wolves  trooped  by  the 
hut,  passed  from  a  short,  easy  trot,  to  a  low,  long 
gallop,  devouring,  yet  fearful.  It  appeared  as 
though  the  dumb  earth  were  trying  to  speak, 
and  the  mighty  effort  gave  it  pain,  from  which 
came  awe  and  terror  to  living  things. 

So,  inside  the  house,  also,  Pierre  almost 
shrank  from  the  unknown  sorrow  of  this  man 
beside  him,  who  was  about  to  disclose  the  story 
of  his  life.  The  solitary  places  do  not  make 
men  glib  of  tongue;  rather,  spare  of  words. 
They  whose  tragedy  lies  in  the  capacity  to  suf- 
fer greatly,  being  given  the  woe  of  imagination, 
bring  forth  inner  history  as  a  mother  gasps  life 
into  the  world. 

"  I  was  only  a  boy  of  twenty-one,"  Fawdor 
said  from  the  pillow,  as  he  watched  the  dog 


8  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

noiselessly  travelling  from  corner  to  corner, 
"  and  I  had  been  with  the  Company  three  years. 
They  had  said  that  I  could  rise  fast;  I  had 
done  so.  I  was  ambitious;  yet  I  find  solace  in 
thinking  that  I  saw  only  one  way  to  it, — by 
patience,  industry  and  much  thinking.  I  read 
a  great  deal,  and  cared  for  what  I  read;  but  I 
observed  also,  that  in  dealing  with  men  I  might 
serve  myself  and  the  Company  wisely. 

"  One  day  the  governor  of  the  Company 
came  from  England,  and  with  him  a  sweet  lady, 
his  young  niece,  and  her  brother.  They  ar- 
ranged for  a  tour  to  the  Great  Lakes,  and  I  was 
chosen  to  go  with  them  in  command  of  the 
boatmen.  It  appeared  as  if  a  great  chance  had 
come  to  me,  and  so  said  the  factor  at  Lachine 
on  the  morning  we  set  forth.  The  girl  was  as 
winsome  as  you  can  think,  not  of  such  wonder- 
ful beauty,  but  with  a  face  that  would  be  finer 
old  than  young;  and  a  dainty  trick  of  humour 
had  she  as  well.  The  governor  was  a  testy  man ; 
he  could  not  bear  to  be  crossed  in  a  matter;  yet, 
in  spite  of  all  I  did  not  think  he  had  a  wilful 
hardness.  It  was  a  long  journey,  and  we  were 
set  at  our  wits  to  make  it  always  interesting;  but 
we  did  it  somehow,  for  there  were  fishing  and 
shooting,  and  adventure  of  one  sort  and  an- 
other, and  the  lighter  things,  such  as  singing 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue         9 

and  the  telling  of  tales,  as  the  boatmen  rowed 
the  long  river. 

"  We  talked  of  many  things  as  we  travelled, 
and  I  was  glad  to  listen  to  the  governor,  for  he 
had  seen  and  read  much.  It  was  clear  he  liked 
to  have  us  hang  upon  his  tales  and  his  grand 
speeches,  which  seemed  a  little  large  in  the 
mouth;  and  his  nephew,  who  had  a  mind  for 
raillery,  was  now  and  again  guilty  of  some  witty 
impertinence;  but  this  was  hard  to  bring  home 
to  him,  for  he  could  assume  a  fine  childlike  look 
when  he  pleased,  confusing  to  his  accusers. 
Towards  the  last  he  grew  bolder,  and  said  many 
a  biting  thing  to  both  the  governor  and  myself, 
which  more  than  once  turned  his  sister's  face 
pale  with  apprehension,  for  she  had  a  nice  sense 
of  kindness.  Whenever  the  talk  was  at  all  gen- 
eral, it  was  his  delight  to  turn  one  against  the 
other.  Though  I  was  wary,  and  the  girl  under- 
stood his  game,  at  last  he  had  his  way, 

I  knew  Shakespeare  and  the  Bible  very  well, 
and,  like  most  bookish  young  men,  phrase  and 
motto  were  much  on  my  tongue,  though  not 
always  given  forth.  One  evening,  as  we  drew  to 
the  camp-fire,  a  deer  broke  from  the  woods  and 
ran  straight  through  the  little  circle  we  were 
making,  and  disappeared  in  the  bushes  by  the 
riverside.  Someone  ran  for  a  rifle;  but  the  gov- 


IO  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

ernor  forbade,  adding,  with  an  air,  a  phrase 
with  philosophical  point.  I,  proud  of  the  chance 
to  show  I  was  not  a  mere  backwoodsman  at  such 
a  sport,  capped  his  aphorism  with  a  line  from 
Shakespeare's  Cymbeline. 

"  '  Tut,  tut  1'  said  the  governor  smartly:  '  you 
haven't  it  well,  Mr.  Fawdor  ;  it  goes  this  way,' 
and  he  went  on  to  set  me  right.  His  nephew 
at  that  stepped  in,  and,  with  a  little  disdainful 
laugh  at  me,  made  some  galling  gibe  at  my 
'  distinguished  learning.'  I  might  have  known 
better  than  to  let  it  pique  me,  but  I  spoke  up 
again,  though  respectfully  enough,  that  I  was 
not  wrong.  It  appeared  to  me  all  at  once  as  if 
some  principle  were  at  stake,  as  if  I  were  the 
champion  of  our  Shakespeare,  so  will  vanity  de- 
lude us. 

"The  governor — I  can  see  it  as  if  it  were 
yesterday — seemed  to  go  like  ice,  for  he  loved 
to  be  thought  infallible  in  all  such  things  as  well 
as  in  great  business  affairs,  and  his  nephew  was 
there  to  give  an  edge  to  the  matter.  He  said, 
curtly,  that  I  would  probably  come  on  better  in 
the  world  if  I  were  more  exact  and  less  cock-a- 
hoop  with  myself.  That  stung  me,  for  not  only 
was  the  young  lady  looking  on  with  a  sort  of 
superior  pity,  as  I  thought,  but  her  brother  was 
murmuring  to  her  under  his  breath  with  a  pro- 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue        1 1 

voking  smile.  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  be 
treated  like  a  schoolboy.  As  far  as  my  knowl- 
edge went  it  was  as  good  as  another  man's,  were 
he  young  or  old,  so  I  came  in  quickly  with  my 
reply.  I  said  that  his  excellency  should  find 
rne  more  cock-a-hoop  with  Shakespeare  than 
with  myself.  '  Well,  well,'  he  answered,  with  a 
severe  look,  'our  Company  has  need  of  great 
men  for  hard  tasks.'  To  this  I  made  no  answer, 
for  I  got  a  warning  look  from  the  young  lady, 
—  a  look  which  had  a  sort  of  reproach  and  com- 
mand too.  She  knew  the  twists  and  turns  of 
her  uncle's  temper,  and  how  he  was  imperious 
and  jealous  in  little  things.  The  matter  dropped 
for  the  time;  but  as  the  governor  was  going  to 
his  tent  for  the  night,  the  young  lady  said  to  me 
hurriedly,  '  My  uncle  is  a  man  of  great  reading 
— and  power,  Mr.  Fawdor.  I  would  set  it  right 
with  him,  if  I  were  you.'  For  the  moment  I 
was  ashamed.  You  cannot  guess  how  fine  an 
eye  she  had,  and  how  her  voice  stirred  one  ! 
She  said  no  more,  but  stepped  inside  her  tent; 
and  then  I  heard  the  brother  say  over  my  shoul- 
der, 'Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be 
proud!'  Afterwards,  with  a  little  laugh  and  a 
backward  wave  of  the  hand,  as  one  might  toss  a 
greeting  to  a  beggar,  he  was  gone  also,  and  I 
was  left  alone." 


12  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

Fawdor  paused  in  his  narrative.  The  dog 
had  lain  down  by  the  fire  again,  but  its  red  eyes 
were  blinking  at  the  door,  and  now  and  again  it 
growled  softly,  and  the  long  hair  at  its  mouth 
seemed  to  shiver  with  feeling.  Suddenly 
through  the  night  there  rang  a  loud,  barking 
cry.  The  dog's  mouth  opened  and  closed  in  a 
noiseless  snarl,  showing  its  keen,  long  teeth,  and 
a  ridge  of  hair  bristled  on  its  back.  But  the 
two  men  made  no  sign  or  motion.  The  cry  of 
wild  cats  was  no  new  thing  to  them. 

Presently  the  other  continued:  "I  sat  by 
the  fire  and  heard  beasts  howl  like  that,  I  list- 
ened to  the  river  churning  over  the  rapids  be- 
low, and  I  felt  all  at  once  a  loneliness  that  turned 
me  sick.  There  were  three  people  in  a  tent  near 
me;  I  could  even  hear  the  governor's  breathing; 
but  I  appeared  to  have  no  part  in  the  life  of  any 
human  being,  as  if  I  were  a  kind  of  outlaw  of 
God  and  man.  I  was  poor;  I  had  no  friends; 
I  was  at  the  mercy  of  this  great  Company;  if  I 
died  there  was  not  a  human  being  who,  so  far  as 
I  knew,  would  shed  a  tear.  Well,  you  see  I  was 
only  a  boy,  and  I  suppose  it  was  the  spirit  of 
youth  hungering  for  the  huge,  active  world  and 
the  companionship  of  ambitious  men.  There  is 
no  one  so  lonely  as  the  young  dreamer  on  the 
brink  of  life. 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue        13 

"  I  was  lying  by  the  fire.  It  was  not  a  cold 
night,  and  I  fell  asleep  at  last  without  covering. 
I  did  not  wake  till  morning,  and  then  it  was  to 
find  the  governor's  nephew  building  up  the  fire 
again.  'Those  who  are  born  great,'  said  he, 
'are  bound  to  rise.'  But  perhaps  he  saw  that  I 
had  had  a  bad  night,  and  felt  that  he  had  gone 
far  enough,  for  he  presently  said,  in  a  tone  more 
to  my  liking,  '  Take  my  advice,  Mr.  Fawdor  ; 
make  it  right  with  my  uncle.  It  isn't  such  fast 
rising  in  the  Company  that  you  can  afford  to 
quarrel  with  its  governor.  I  'd  go  on  the  other 
tack;  don't  be  too  honest.'  I  thanked  him,  and 
no  more  was  said ;  but  I  liked  him  better,  for  I 
saw  that  he  was  one  of  those  who  take  pleasure 
in  dropping  nettles  more  to  see  the  weakness  of 
human  nature  than  from  malice. 

"But  my  good  fortune  had  got  a  twist,  and 
it  was  not  to  be  straightened  that  day ;  and  be- 
cause it  was  not  straightened  then  it  was  not  to 
be  at  all ;  for  at  five  o'clock  we  came  to  the  post 
at  Lachine,  and  here  the  governor  and  the 
others  were  to  stop.  During  all  the  day  I  had 
waited  for  my  chance  to  say  a  word  of  apology 
to  his  excellency,  but  it  was  no  use;  nothing 
seemed  to  help  me,  for  he  was  busy  with  his 
papers  and  notes,  and  I  also  had  to  finish  up  my 
reports.  The  hours  went  by,  and  I  saw  my 


14  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

chances  drift  past.  I  knew  that  the  governor 
held  the  thing  against  me,  and  not  the  less  be- 
cause he  saw  me  more  than  once  that  day  in 
speech  with  his  niece.  For  she  appeared  anx- 
ious to  cheer  me,  and  indeed  I  think  we  might 
have  become  excellent  friends  had  our  ways  run 
together.  She  could  have  bestowed  her  friend- 
ship on  me  without  shame  to  herself,  for  I  had 
come  of  an  old  family  in  Scotland,  the  Sheplaws 
of  Canfire,  which  she  knew,  as  did  the  governor 
also,  was  a  more  ancient  family  than  their  own. 
Yet  her  kindness  that  day  worked  me  no  good, 
and  I  went  far  to  make  it  worse,  since,  under 
the  spell  of  her  gentleness,  I  looked  at  her  far 
from  distantly,  and  at  the  last,  as  she  was  get- 
ting from  the  boat,  returned  the  pressure  of  her 
hand  with  much  interest.  I  suppose  something 
of  the  pride  of  that  moment  leaped  up  in  my 
eye,  for  I  saw  the  governor's  face  harden  more 
and  more,  and  the  brother  shrugged  an  ironical 
shoulder.  I  was  too  young  to  see  or  know  that 
the  chief  thing  in  the  girl's  mind  was  regret  that 
I  had  so  hurt  my  chances ;  for  she  knew,  as  I 
saw  only  too  well  afterwards,  that  I  might  have 
been  rewarded  with  a  leaping  promotion  in  hon- 
our of  the  success  of  the  journey.  But  though 
the  boatmen  got  a  gift  of  money  and  tobacco 
and  spirits,  nothing  came  to  me  save  the  formal 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue        1 5 

thanks  of  the  governor,  as  he  bowed  me  from 
his  presence. 

"The  nephew  came  with  his  sister  to  bid  me 
farewell.  There  was  little  said  between  her  and 
me,  and  it  was  a  long,  long  time  before  she 
knew  the  end  of  that  day's  business.  But  the 
brother  said,  'You've  let  the  chance  go  by,  Mr. 
Fawdor.  Better  luck  next  time,  eh  ?  And,'  he 
went  on,  '  I  'd  give  a  hundred  editions  the  lie, 
but  I  'd  read  the  text  according  to  my  chief  offi- 
cer. The  words  of  a  king  are  always  wise  while 
his  head  is  on,'  he  declared  further,  and  he  drew 
from  his  scarf  a  pin  of  pearls  and  handed  it  to 
me.  '  Will  you  wear  that  for  me,  Mr.  Fawdor  ? ' 
he  asked ;  and  I,  who  had  thought  him  but  a 
stripling  with  a  saucy  pride,  grasped  his  hand 
and  said  a  God-keep-you.  It  does  me  good  now 
to  think  I  said  it.  I  did  not  see  him  or  his  sis- 
ter again. 

"The  next  day  was  Sunday.  About  two 
o'clock  I  was  sent  for  by  the  governor.  When  I 
got  to  the  Post  and  was  admitted  to  him,  I  saw 
that  my  misadventure  was  not  over.  '  Mr.  Faw- 
dor,' said  he  coldly,  spreading  out  a  map  on  the 
table  before  him,  'you  will  start  at  once  for  Fort 
Ungava,  at  Ungava  Bay,  in  Labrador.'  I  felt 
my  heart  stand  still  for  a  moment,  and  then 
surge  up  and  down,  like  a  piston-rod  under  a 


16  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

sudden  rush  of  steam.  'You  will  proceed,  now,' 
he  went  on,  in  his  hard  voice,  'as  far  as  the  vil- 
lage of  Pont  Croix.  There  you  will  find  three 
Indians  awaiting  you.  You  will  go  on  with 
them  as  far  as  Point  St.  Saviour  and  camp  for  the 
night,  for  if  the  Indians  remain  in  the  village 
they  may  get  drunk.  The  next  morning  at  sun- 
rise, you  will  move  on.  The  Indians  know  the 
trail  across  Labrador  to  Fort  Ungava.  When 
you  reach  there,  you  will  take  command  of  the 
Post  and  remain  till  further  orders.  Your  clothes 
are  already  at  the  village.  I  have  had  them 
packed,  and  you  will  find  there  also  what  is  nec- 
essary for  the  journey.  The  factor  at  Ungava 
was  there  ten  years  ;  he  has  gone — to  heaven.' 

"I  cannot  tell  what  it  was  held  my  tongue 
silent,  that  made  me  only  bow  my  head  in  assent 
and  press  my  lips  together.  I  knew  I  was  pale 
as  death,  for  as  I  turned  to  leave  the  room  I 
caught  sight  of  my  face  in  a  little  mirror  tacked 
on  the  door,  and  I  hardly  recognized  myself. 

" '  Good-day,  Mr.  Fawdor,'  said  the  governor 
handing  me  the  map.  'There  is  some  brandy 
in  your  stores;  be  careful  that  none  of  your  In- 
dians get  it.  If  they  try  to  desert,  you  know 
what  to  do.'  With  a  gesture  of  dismissal  he 
turned,  and  began  to  speak  with  the  chief  trader. 

"For  me,  I  went  from  that  room  like  a  man 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue        17 

condemned  to  die.  Fort  Ungava  in  Labrador, 
— a  thousand  miles  away,  over  a  barren,  savage 
country,  and  in  winter,  too;  for  it  would  be 
winter  there  immediately.  It  was  an  exile  to 
Siberia,  and  far  worse  than  Siberia ;  for  there  are 
many  there  to  share  the  fellowship  of  misery, 
and  I  was  likely  to  be  the  only  white  man  at 
Fort  Ungava.  As  I  passed  from  the  door  of 
the  Post,  the  words  of  Shakespeare  which  had 
brought  all  this  about  sang  in  my  ears."  He 
ceased  speaking,  and  sank  back  wearily  among 
the  skins  of  his  couch.  Out  of  the  enveloping 
silence  Pierre's  voice  came  softly : 

"  Thou  shalt  judge  with  the  minds  of  twelve 
men,  and  the  heart  of  one  woman." 


II 

"  The  journey  to  the  village  of  Pont  Croix 
was  that  of  a  man  walking  over  graves.  Every 
step  sent  a  pang  to  my  heart, — a  boy  of  twenty- 
one,  grown  old  in  a  moment.  It  was  not  that  I 
had  gone  a  little  lame  from  a  hurt  got  on  the 
expedition  with  the  governor,  but  my  whole  life 
seemed  suddenly  lamed.  Why  did  I  go  ?  Ah, 
you  do  not  know  how  discipline  gets  into  a 
man's  bones, — the  pride,  the  indignant  pride  of 
obedience.  At  that  hour  I  swore  that  I  should 


1 3  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

myself  be  the  governor  of  that  Company  one 
day, — the  boast  of  loud -hearted  youth.  I  had 
angry  visions,  I  dreamed  absurd  dreams,  but  I 
did  not  think  of  disobeying.  It  was  an  unheard- 
of  journey  at  such  a  time,  but  I  swore  that  I 
would  do  it,  that  it  should  go  into  the  records 
of  the  Company. 

"  I  reached  the  village,  found  the  Indians, 
and  at  once  moved  on  to  the  settlement  where 
we  were  to  stay  that  night.  Then  my  knee  be- 
gan to  pain  me.  I  feared  inflammation  ;  so  in 
the  dead  of  night  I  walked  back  to  the  village, 
roused  a  trader  of  the  Company,  got  some  lini- 
ment and  other  trifles,  and  arrived  again  at  St. 
Saviour  before  dawn.  My  few  clothes  and 
necessaries  came  in  the  course  of  the  morning, 
and  by  noon  we  were  fairly  started  on  the  path 
to  exile. 

"I  remember  that  we  came  to  a  lofty  point 
on  the  St.  Lawrence  just  before  we  plunged  into 
the  woods,  to  see  the  great  stream  no  more.  I 
stood  and  looked  back  up  the  river  towards  the 
point  where  Lachine  lay.  All  that  went  to  make 
the  life  of  a  Company's  man  possible  was  there ; 
and  there,  too,  were  those  with  whom  I  had 
tented  and  travelled  for  three  long  months, — 
eaten  with  them,  cared  for  them,  used  for  them 
all  the  woodcraft  that  I  knew.  I  could  not 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue        19 

think  that  it  would  be  a  young  man's  lifetime 
before  I  set  eyes  on  that  scene  again.  Never 
from  that  day  to  this  have  I  seen  the  broad, 
sweet  river  where  I  spent  the  three  happiest 
years  of  my  life.  I  can  see  now  the  tall  shining 
heights  of  Quebec,  the  pretty,  wooded  Island  of 
Orleans,  the  winding  channel,  so  deep,  so  strong. 
The  sun  was  three-fourths  of  its  way  down  in 
the  west,  and  already  the  sky  was  taking  on  the 
deep  red  and  purple  of  autumn.  Somehow,  the 
thing  that  struck  me  most  in  the  scene  was  a 
bunch  of  pines,  solemn  and  quiet,  their  tops  bur- 
nished by  the  afternoon  light.  Tears  would 
have  been  easy  then.  But  my  pride  drove  them 
back  from  my  eyes  to  my  angry  heart.  Besides, 
there  were  my  Indians  waiting,  and  the  long 
journey  lay  before  us.  Then,  perhaps  because 
there  was  none  nearer  to  make  farewell  to,  or  I 
know  not  why,  I  waved  my  hand  towards  the 
distant  village  of  Lachine,  and,  with  the  sweet 
maid  in  my  mind  who  had  so  gently  parted  from 
me  yesterday,  I  cried,  '  Good-bye,  and  God  bless 
you.'" 

He  paused.  Pierre  handed  him  a  wooden 
cup,  from  which  he  drank,  and  then  con- 
tinued : — 

"The  journey  went  forward.  You  have  seen 
the  country.  You  know  what  it  is  :  those  bare 


2O  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

ice-plains  and  rocky  unfenced  fields  stretching 
to  all  points,  the  heaving  wastes  of  treeless  coun- 
try, the  harsh  frozen  lakes.  God  knows  what 
insupportable  horror  would  have  settled  on  me 
in  that  pilgrimage  had  it  not  been  for  occasional 
glimpses  of  a  gentler  life — for  the  deer  and 
caribou  which  crossed  our  path.  Upon  my  soul, 
I  was  so  full  of  gratitude  and  love  at  the  sight 
that  I  could  have  thrown  my  arms  round  their 
necks  and  kissed  them.  I  could  not  raise  a  gun 
at  them.  My  Indians  did  that,  and  so  incon- 
stant is  the  human  heart  that  I  ate  heartily  of  the 
meat.  My  Indians  were  almost  less  companion- 
able to  me  than  any  animal  would  have  been. 
Try  as  I  would,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  like 
them,  and  I  feared  only  too  truly  that  they  did 
not  like  me.  Indeed,  I  soon  saw  that  they 
meant  to  desert  me, — kill  me,  perhaps,  if  they 
could,  although  I  trusted  in  the  wholesome  and 
restraining  fear  which  the  Indian  has  of  the 
great  Company.  I  was  not  sure  that  they  were 
guiding  me  aright,  and  I  had  to  threaten  death 
in  case  they  tried  to  mislead  me  or  desert  me. 
My  knee  at  times  was  painful,  and  cold,  hunger, 
and  incessant  watchfulness  wore  on  me  vastly. 
Yet  I  did  not  yield  to  my  miseries,  for  there  en- 
tered into  me  then  not  only  the  spirit  of  endur- 
ance, but  something  of  that  sacred  pride  in 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue       21 

Buffering  which  was  the  merit  of  my  Covenant- 
ing forefathers. 

"  We  were  four  months  on  that  bitter  travel, 
and  I  do  not  know  how  it  could  have  been  made 
at  all,  had  it  not  been  for  the  deer  that  I  had 
heart  to  eat  and  none  to  kill.  The  days  got 
shorter  and  shorter,  and  we  were  sometimes 
eighteen  hours  in  absolute  darkness.  Thus  you 
can  imagine  how  slowly  we  went.  Thank  God, 
we  could  sleep,  hid  away  in  our  fur  bags,  more 
often  without  a  fire  than  with  one, — mere  mum- 
mies stretched  out  on  a  vast  coverlet  of  white, 
with  the  peering,  unfriendly  sky  above  us ; 
though  it  must  be  said  that  through  all  those 
many,  many  weeks  no  cloud  perched  in  the 
zenith.  When  there  was  light  there  was  sun,  and 
the  courage  of  it  entered  into  our  bones,  helping 
to  save  us.  You  may  think  I  have  been  made 
feeble-minded  by  my  sufferings,  but  I  tell  you 
plainly  that,  in  the  closing  days  of  our  journey, 
I  used  to  see  a  tall  figure  walking  beside  me, 
who,  whenever  I  would  have  spoken  to  him, 
laid  a  warning  finger  on  his  lips ;  but  when 
I  would  have  fallen,  he  spoke  to  me,  always 
in  the  same  words.  You  have  heard  of  him, 
the  Scarlet  Hunter  of  the  Kimash  Hills.  It  was 
he,  the  Sentinel  of  the  North,  the  Lover  of 
the  Lost.  So  deep  did  his  words  go  into  my 


22  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

heart  that  they  have  remained  with  me  to  this 
hour." 

"  I  saw  him  once  in  the  White  Valley,"  Pierre 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  What  was  it  he  said  to 
you  ?  " 

The  other  drew  a  long  breath,  and  a  smile 
rested  on  his  lips.  Then,  slowly,  as  though  lik- 
ing to  linger  over  them,  he  repeated  the  words 
of  the  Scarlet  Hunter  : 

" '  O  son  of  man,  behold  ! 
If  thorn  shouldst  stumble  on  the  nameless  trail, 
The  trail  that  no  man  rides, 
Lift  up  thy  heart, 
Behold,  O  son  of  man,  thou  hast  a  helper  near ! 

" '  O  son  of  man,  take  heed  ! 
If  thou  shouldst  fall  upon  the  vacant  plain, 
The  plain  that  no  man  loves, 
Reach  out  thy  hand, 

Take  heed,  O,  son  of  man  !  strength  shall  be  given 
thee! 

" '  O  son  of  man,  rejoice  ! 
If  thou  art  blinded  even  at  the  door, 
The  door  of  the  Safe  Tent, 
Sing  in  thy  heart, 
Rejoice,  O  son  of  man,  thy  pilot  leads  thee  home ! ' 

"  I  never  seemed  to  be  alone  after  that  — 
call  it  what  you  will,  fancy  or  delirium.  My 
head  was  so  light  that  it  appeared  to  spin  like  a 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue       23 

star,  and  my  feet  were  so  heavy  that  I  dragged 
the  whole  earth  after  me.  My  Indians  seldom 
spoke.  I  never  let  them  drop  behind  me,  for 
I  did  not  trust  their  treacherous  natures.  But  in 
the  end,  as  it  would  seem,  they  also  had  but  one 
thought,  and  that  to  reach  Fort  Ungava  ;  for 
there  was  no  food  left  —  none  at  all.  We  saw 
no  tribes  of  Indians  and  no  Esquimaux,  for  we 
had  not  passed  in  their  line  of  travel  or  settle- 
ment. 

"  At  last  I  used  to  dream  that  birds  were  sing- 
ing near  me  —  a  soft,  delicate  whirlwind  of 
sound  ;  and  then  bells  all  like  muffled  silver  rang 
through  the  aching,  sweet  air.  Bits  ok  prayer 
and  poetry  I  learned  when  a  boy  flashed  through 
my  mind  ;  equations  in  algebra ;  the  tingling 
scream  of  a  great  buzz-saw;  the  breath  of  a  racer 
as  he  nears  the  post  under  the  crying  whip  ;  my 
own  voice  dropping  loud  profanity,  heard  as  a 
lad  from  a  blind  ferryman  ;  the  boom  !  boom  ! 
of  a  mass  of  logs  as  they  struck  a  house  on  a 
flooding  river  and  carried  it  away.  .  .  . 

"  One  day  we  reached  the  end.  It  was  near 
evening,  and  we  came  to  the  top  of  a  wooded 
knoll.  My  eyes  were  dancing  in  my  head 
with  fatigue  and  weakness,  but  I  could  see 
below  us,  on  the  edge  of  the  great  bay,  a 
large  hut,  Esquimaux  lodges  and  Indian  tepees 


24  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

near  it.  It  was  the  Fort,  my  cheerless  prison- 
house." 

He  paused.  The  dog  had  been  watching 
him  with  its  flaming  eyes  ;  now  it  gave  a  low 
growl,  as  though  it  understood  and  pitied.  In 
the  interval  of  silence  the  storm  without  broke. 
The  trees  began  to  quake  and  cry,  the  light  snow 
to  beat  upon  the  parchment  windows,  and  the 
chimney  to  splutter  and  moan.  Presently,  out 
on  the  bay  they  could  hear  the  young  ice  break 
and  come  scraping  up  the  shore.  Fawdor  list- 
ened a  while,  and  then  went  on,  waving  his  hand 
to  the  door  as  he  began  :  "  Think  !  this,  and 
like  that  always,  the  ungodly  strife  of  nature, 
and  my  sick  disconsolate  life." 

"Ever  since  ?"  asked  Pierre. 

"  All  the  time." 

"  Why  did  you  not  go  back  ?  " 

"  I  was  to  wait  for  orders,  and  they  never 
came." 

"  You  were  a  free  man,  not  a  slave." 

"The  human  heart  has  pride.  At  first,  as 
when  I  left  the  governor  at  Lachine,  I  said,  "  I 
will  never  speak  ;  I  will  never  ask  nor  bend  the 
knee.  He  has  the  power  to  oppress  ;  I  can  obey 
without  whining  —  as  fine  a  man  as  he.'  " 

"  Did  you  not  hate  ?  " 

"  At  first,  as  only  a  banished  man  can  hate. 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue       25 

I  knew  that  if  all  had  gone  well  I  should  be  a 
man  high  up  in  the  Company,  and  here  I  was, 
living  like  a  dog  in  the  porch  of  the  world, 
sometimes  without  other  food  for  months  than 
frozen  fish ;  and  for  two  years  I  was  in  a 
place  where  we  had  no  fire  —  lived  in  a  snow- 
house,  with  only  blubber  to  eat.  And  so  year 
after  year  —  no  word  !  " 

"  The  mail  came  once  every  year  from  the 
world  ?  " 

"  Yes,  once  a  year  the  door  of  the  outer  life 
was  opened.  A  ship  came  into  the  bay,  and  by 
that  ship  I  sent  out  my  reports.  But  no  word 
came  from  the  governor,  and  no  request  went 
from  me.  Once  the  captain  of  that  ship  took 
me  by  the  shoulders,  and  said,  '  Fawdor,  man, 
this  will  drive  you  mad.  Come  away  to  Eng- 
land—  leave  your  half-breed  in  charge  —  and 
ask  the  governor  for  a  big  promotion.'  He  did 
not  understand.  Of  course  I  said  I  could  not 
go.  Then  he  turned  on  me — he  was  a  good 
man  —  and  said,  'This  will  either  make  you 
madman  or  saint,  Fawdor.'  He  drew  a  Bible 
from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  me.  'I  've 
used  it  twenty  years,'  he  said,  '  in  evil  and  out 
of  evil,  and  I  've  spiked  it  here  and  there  ;  it 's 
a  chart  for  heavy  seas,  and  may  you  find  it  so, 
my  lad.' 


26  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"  I  said  little  then  ;  but  when  I  saw  the  sails 
of  his  ship  round  a  cape  and  vanish,  all  my  pride 
and  strength  were  broken  up,  and  I  carae  in  a 
heap  to  the  ground,  weeping  like  a  child.  But 
the  change  did  not  come  all  at  once.  There 
were  two  things  that  kept  me  hard." 

"The  girl?" 

"  The  girl,  and  another.  But  of  the  young 
lady  after.  I  had  a  half-breed  whose  life  I  had 
saved.  I  was  kind  to  him  always  ;  gave  him  as 
good  to  eat  and  drink  as  I  had  myself ;  divided 
my  tobacco  with  him  ;  loved  him  as  only  an 
exile  can  love  a  comrade.  He  conspired  with 
the  Indians  to  seize  the  Fort  and  stores,  and 
kill  me  if  I  resisted.  I  found  it  out." 

"Thou  shalt  keep  the  faith  of  food  and 
blanket,"  said  Pierre.  "  What  did  you  do  with 
him?" 

"The  fault  was  not  his  so  much  as  of  his 
race  and  his  miserable  past.  I  had  loved  him. 
I  sent  him  away  ;  and  he  never  came  back." 

"  Thou  shalt  judge  with  the  minds  of  twelve 
men,  and  the  heart  of  one  woman." 

"For  the  girl.  There  was  the  thing  that 
clamped  my  heart.  Never  a  message  from  her 
or  her  brother.  Surely  they  knew,  and  yet 
never,  thought  I,  a  good  word  for  me  to  the 
governor.  They  had  forgotten  the  faith  of  food 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue       27 

and  blanket.  And  she  —  she  must  have  seen 
that  I  could  have  worshiped  her  had  we  been 
in  the  same  way  of  life.  Before  the  better  days 
came  to  me  I  was  hard  against  her ;  hard  and 
rough  at  heart." 

"  Remember  the  sorrow  of  thine  own  wife." 
Pierre's  voice  was  gentle. 

"  Truly,  to  think  hardly  of  no  woman  should 
be  always  in  a  man's  heart.  But  I  have  known 
only  one  woman  of  my  race  in  twenty-five 
years ! " 

"  And  as  time  went  on  ?  " 

"As  time  went  on,  and  no  word  came,  I 
•  ceased  to  look  for  it.  But  I  followed  that  chart 
spiked  with  the  captain's  pencil,  as  he  had  done 
it  in  season  and  out  of  season,  and  by  and  by 
I  ceased  to  look  for  any  word.  I  even  became 
reconciled  to  my  life.  The  ambitious  and  ach- 
ing cares  of  the  world  dropped  from  me,  and  I 
stood  above  all  —  alone  in  my  suffering,  yet  not 
yielding.  Loneliness  is  a  terrible  thing.  Un- 
der it  a  man  —  " 

"Goes  mad  or  becomes  a  saint — a  saint!" 
Pierre's  voice  became  reverent. 

Fawdor  shook  his  head,  smiling  gently.  "Ah 
no,  no.  But  I  began  to  understand  the  world, 
and  I  loved  the  north,  the  beautiful  hard 
north  ! " 


28  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"But  there  is  more?" 

"Yes,  the  end  of  it  all.  Three  days  before 
you  came  I  got  a  packet  of  letters,  not  by  the 
usual  yearly  mail.  One  announced  that  the  gov- 
ernor was  dead.  Another  —  " 

"Another?"  urged  Pierre  — 

—  "was  from  Her.  She  said  that  her  brother, 
on  the  day  she  wrote,  had  by  chance  come  across 
my  name  in  the  Company's  records,  and  found 
that  I  had  been  here  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
It  was  the  letter  of  a  good  woman.  She  said 
she  thought  the  governor  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  sent  me  here  —  as  now  I  hope  he  had,  for 
that  would  be  one  thing  less  for  him  to  think  of 
when  he  set  out  on  the  journey  where  the  only 
weight  a  man  carries  is  the  packload  of  his  sins. 
She  also  said  that  she  had  written  to  me  twice 
after  we  parted  at  Lachine,  but  had  never  heard 
a  word,  and  three  years  afterwards  she  had  gone 
to  India.  The  letters  were  lost,  I  suppose,  on 
the  way  to  me,  somehow  —  who  can  tell  ?  Then 
came  another  thing,  so  strange,  that  it  seemed 
like  the  laughter  of  the  angels  at  us.  These 
were  her  words  :  '  And  dear  Mr.  Fawdor,  you 
were  both  wrong  in  that  quotation,  as  you  no 
doubt  discovered  long  ago.'  Then  she  gave  me 
the  sentence  as  it  is  in  Cymbeline.  She  was 
right,  quite  right ;  we  were  both  wrong.  Never 


Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue       29 

till  her  letter  came  had  I  looked  to  see.  How 
vain,  how  uncertain  and  fallible  is  man  !  " 

Pierre  dropped  his  cigarette  and  stared  at 
Fawdor.  "  The  knowledge  of  books  is  foolery, " 
he  said,  slowly.  "  Man  is  the  only  book  of  life. 
Go  on." 

"  There  was  another  letter  from  the  brother, 
who  was  now  high  up  in  the  Company,  asking 
me  to  come  to  England,  and  saying  that  they 
wished  to  promote  me  far,  and  that  he  and  his 
sister,  with  their  families,  would  be  glad  to  see 
me." 

"  She  was  married,  then  ?  " 

The  rashness  of  the  suggestion  made  Faw- 
dor wave  his  hand  impatiently.  He  would  not 
reply  to  it.  "  I  was  struck  down  with  all  the 
news,"  he  said.  "  I  wandered  like  a  child  out 
into  a  mad  storm.  Illness  came  ;  then  you,  who 
have  nursed  me  back  to  life.  .  .  .  And  now  I 
have  told  all." 

"  Not  all,  Hen  sur.     What  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  out  of  the  world  ;  why  tempt  it  all 
again  ?  See  how  those  twenty-five  years  were 
twisted  by  a  boy's  vanity  and  a  man's  tyranny  ! " 

"  But  what  will  you  do  ? "  persisted  Pierre. 
"  You  should  see  the  faces  of  women  and  chil- 
dren again.  No  man  can  live  without  that 
sight,  even  as  a  saint." 


3O  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

Suddenly  Fawdor's  face  was  shot  over  with  a 
storm  of  feeling.  He  lay  very  still,  his  thoughts 
busy  with  a  new  world  which  had  been  disclosed 
to  him.  "  Youth  hungers  for  the  vanities,"  he 
said,  "and  the  middle-aged  for  home."  He 
took  Pierre's  hand.  "  I  will  go,"  he  added.  "A 
door  will  open  somewhere  for  me." 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  The 
storm  had  ceased,  the  wild  dog  huddled  quietly 
on  the  hearth,  and  for  hours  the  only  sound  was 
the  crackling  of  the  logs  as  Pierre  stirred  the 
fire. 


Little  Babiche 

"  No,  no,  m'sieu'  the  governor,  they  did  not 
tell  you  right.  I  was  with  him,  and  I  have 
known  Little  Babiche  fifteen  years — as  long  as 
I  've  known  you.  ...  It  was  against  the  time 
when  down  in  your  world  there  they  have  feast- 
ings,  and  in  the  churches  the  grand  songs  and 
many  candles  on  the  altars.  Yes,  Noel,  that  is 
the  word  —  the  day  of  the  Great  Birth.  You 
shall  hear  how  strange  it  all  was  —  the  thing,  the 
time,  the  end  of  it." 

The  governor  of  the  great  Company  settled 
back  in  a  chair,  his  powerful  face  seamed  by 
years,  his  hair  grey  and  thick  still,  his  keen, 
steady  eyes  burning  under  shaggy  brows.  He 
had  himself  spent  long  solitary  years  in  the  wild 
fastnesses  of  the  north.  He  fastened  his  dark 
eyes  on  Pierre,  and  said  :  "  Monsieur  Pierre,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  hear.  It  was  at  the  time  of  Noel 
—  yes?" 

Pierre  began  :  "  You  have  seen  it  beautiful 
and  cold  in  the  north,  but  never  so  cold  and 
beautiful  as  it  was  last  year.  The  world  was  white 

31 


32  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

with  sun  and  ice ;  the  frost  never  melting,  the 
sun  never  warming  —  just  a  glitter,  so  lovely,  so 
deadly.  If  only  you  could  keep  the  heart  warm, 
you  were  not  afraid.  But  if  once  —  just  for  a 
moment  —  the  blood  ran  out  from  the  heart  and 
did  not  come  in  again,  the  frost  clamped  the 
doors  shut,  and  there  was  an  end  of  all.  Ah, 
m'sieu',  when  the  north  clinches  a  man's  heart 
in  anger  there  is  no  pain  like  it  —  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  and  Little  Babiche  ?  " 
"  For  ten  years  he  carried  the  mails  along  the 
route  of  Fort  Ste.  Mary,  Fort  O'  Glory,  Fort  St. 
Saviour,  and  Fort  Perseverance  within  the  circle 
— just  one  mail  once  a  year,  but  that  was  enough. 
There  he  was  with  his  Esquimaux  dogs  on  the 
trail,  going  and  coming,  with  a  laugh  and  a  word 
for  anyone  that  crossed  his  track.  '  Good-day, 
Babiche!'  '  Good-day,  m'sieu'!'  '  How  do  you, 
Babiche?'  'Well,  thank  the  Lord,  m'sieu'!' 
*  Where  to  and  where  from,  Babiche  ? '  'To  the 
Great  Fort  by  the  old  trail,  from  the  Far-off 
River,  m'sieu'.'  'Come  safe  along,  Babiche?' 
'  Merci,  m'sieu' ;  the  good  God  travels  north, 
m'sieu'.'  'Adieu,  Babiche!'  'Adieu,  m'sieu'!' 
That  is  about  the  way  of  the  thing,  year  after 
year.  Sometimes  a  night  at  a  hut  or  a  post,  but 
mostly  alone  —  alone  except  for  the  dogs.  He 


Little  Babiche  33 

slept  with  them,  and  they  slept  on  the  mails  — 
to  guard  :  as  though  there  should  be  highway- 
men on  the  Prairie  of  the  Ten  Stars  !  But  no  ! 
it  was  his  way,  m'sieu'.  Now  and  again  I  crossed 
him  on  the  trail,  for  have  I  not  traveled  to  every 
corner  of  the  north  ?  We  were  not  so  great 
friends,  for  —  well,  Babiche  is  a  man  who  says 
his  aves,  and  never  was  a  loafer,  and  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  have  love  for  me  ;  but 
we  were  good  company  when  we  met.  I  knew 
him  when  he  was  a  boy  down  on  the  Chaudiere, 
and  he  always  had  a  heart  like  a  lion  —  and  a 
woman.  I  had  seen  him  fight ;  I  had  seen  him 
suffer  cold,  and  I  had  heard  him  sing. 

"  Well,  I  was  up  last  fall  to  Fort  St.  Saviour. 
Ho,  how  dull  was  it !  Macgregor,  the  trader 
there,  has  brains  like  rubber.  So,  I  said,  I  will 
go  down  to  Fort  O'  Glory.  I  knew  some  one 
would  be  there  —  it  is  nearer  the  world.  So  I 
started  away  with  four  dogs  and  plenty  of  jerked 
buffalo,  and  so  much  brown  brandy  as  Mac- 
gregor could  squeeze  out  of  his  eye!  Never,  never, 
was  there  such  days  —  the  frost  shaking  like 
steel  and  silver  as  it  powdered  the  sunlight,  the 
white  level  of  snow  lifting  and  falling,  and  fall- 
ing and  lifting,  the  sky  so  great  a  travel  away, 
the  air  which  made  you  cry  out  with  pain  one 
minute  and  gave  you  joy  the  next.  And  all  so 


34  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

wild,  so  lonely  !  Yet  I  have  seen  hanging  in 
those  plains  cities  all  blue  and  red,  with  millions 
of  lights  showing,  and  voices,  voices  everywhere, 
like  the  singing  of  soft  masses.  After  a  time 
in  that  cold  up  there  you  are  no  longer  yourself 
—  no.  You  move  in  a  dream. 

"  Eh  Hen,  m'sieu',  there  came,  I  thought,  a 
dream  to  me  one  evening  —  well,  perhaps  one 
afternoon,  for  the  days  are  short — so  short,  the 
sun  just  coming  over  a  little  bend  of  sky,  and 
sinking  down  like  a  big  orange  ball.  I  come  out 
of  a  tumble  of  little  hills,  and  there  over  on  the 
plains  I  saw  a  sight  !  Ragged  hills  of  ice  were 
thrown  up,  as  if  they'd  been  heaved  out  by  the 
breaking  earth,  jutting  here  and  there  like 
wedges  —  like  the  teeth  of  a  world.  Alors,  on 
one  crag,  shaped  as  an  anvil,  I  saw  what  struck 
me  like  a  blow,  and  I  felt  the  blood  shoot  out 
of  my  heart  and  leave  it  dry.  I  was  for  a  min- 
ute like  a  pump  with  no  water  in  its  throat  to 
work  the  piston  and  fetch  the  stream  up.  I 
got  sick  and  numb.  There  on  that  anvil  of 
snow  and  ice  I  saw  a  big  white  bear,  one  such 
as  you  shall  see  within  the  Arctic  Circle.  His 
long  nose  fetching  out  towards  the  bleeding  sun 
in  the  sky,  his  white  coat  shining.  But  that 
was  not  the  thing  —  there  was  another.  At 
the  feet  of  the  bear  was  a  body,  and  one 


Little  Babiche  35 

clawed  foot  was  on  that  body  —  of  a  man.  So 
clear  was  the  air,  the  red  sun  shining  on  the 
face  as  it  was  turned  towards  me,  that  I  wonder 
I  did  not  at  once  know  whose  it  was.  You  can- 
not think,  m'sieu',  what  that  was  like  —  no. 
But  all  at  once  I  remembered  the  Chant  of  the 
Scarlet  Hunter.  I  spoke  it  quick,  and  the  blood 
came  creeping  back  in  here."  He  tapped  his 
chest  with  his  slight  forefinger. 

"  What  was  the  chant  ?  "  asked  the  governor, 
who  had  scarce  stirred  a  muscle  since  the  tale 
began. 

Pierre  made  a  little  gesture  of  deprecation. 
"  Ah,  it  is  perhaps  a  thing  of  foolishness,  as  you 
may  think — " 

"No,  no.  I  have  heard  and  seen  in  my 
day,"  urged  the  governor. 

"  So  ?  Good.  Yes,  I  remember  ;  you  told 
me  years  ago,  m'sieu'.  .  .  . 

"'The  blinding  Trail  and  Night  and  Cold  are 
man's  :  mine  is  the  trail  that  finds  the  Ancient  Lodge. 
Morning  and  Night,  they  travel  with  me  ;  my  camp 
is  set  by  the  pines,  its  fires  are  burning  —  are  burning. 
The  lost,  they  shall  sit  by  my  fires,  and  the  fearful 
ones  shall  seek,  and  the  sick  shall  abide.  I  am  the 
Hunter,  the  Son  of  the  North  ;  I  am  thy  lover  where 
no  man  may  love  thee.  With  me  thou  shalt  journey, 
and  thine  the  Safe  Tent.' 


36  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"As  I  said,  the  blood  came  back  to  ray 
heart.  I  turned  to  my  dogs  and  gave  them  a 
cut  with  the  whip  to  see  if  I  dreamed.  They 
sat  back  and  snarled,  and  their  wild  red  eyes, 
the  same  as  mine,  kept  looking  at  the  bear  and 
the  quiet  man  on  the  anvil  of  ice  and  snow. 
Tell  me,  can  you  think  of  anything  like  it  ?  — 
the  strange  light,  the  white  bear  of  the  Pole, 
that  has  no  friends  at  all  except  the  shooting 
stars,  the  great  ice  plains,  the  quick  night  hur- 
rying on,  the  silence  —  such  silence  as  no  man 
can  think  !  I  have  seen  trouble  flying  at  me  in 
a  hundred  ways,  but  this  was  different  —  yes. 
We  come  to  the  foot  of  the  little  hill.  Still  the 
bear  not  stir.  As  I  went  up,  feeling  for  my 
knives  and  my  gun,  the  dogs  began  to  snarl  with 
anger,  and  for  one  little  step  I  shivered,  for  the 
thing  seems  not  natural.  I  was  about  two  hun- 
dred feet  away  from  the  bear  when  it  turned 
slow  round  at  me,  lifting  its  foot  from  the  body. 
The  dogs  all  at  once  come  huddling  about  me, 
and  I  dropped  on  my  knee  to  take  aim,  but  the 
bear  stole  away  from  the  man  and  come  mov- 
ing down  past  us  at  an  angle,  making  for  the 
plain.  I  could  see  his  deep  shining  eyes,  and 
the  steam  roll  from  his  nose  in  long  puffs.  Very 
slow  and  heavy,  like  as  if  he  see  no  one  and 
care  for  no  one,  he  shambled  down,  and  in  a 


Little  Babiche  37 

minute  was  gone  behind  a  boulder.  I  ran  on  to 
the  man  —  " 

The  governor  was  leaning  forward,  looking 
intently,  and  said  now,  "  It 's  like  a  wild  dream 
—  but  the  north! — the  north  is  near  to  the 
Strangest  of  All !  " 

"  I  knelt  down  and  lifted  him  up  in  my  arms, 
all  a  great  bundle  of  furs  and  wool,  and  I  got 
my  hand  at  last  to  his  wrist.  He  was  alive.  It 
was  Little  Babiche  !  Part  of  his  face  was  frozen 
stiff.  I  rubbed  out  the  frost  with  snow,  and  then 
I  forced  some  brandy  into  his  mouth  —  good 
old  H.  B.  C.  brandy  —  and  began  to  call  to  him: 
'  Babiche  !  Babiche  !  Come  back,  Babiche  ! 
The  wolf's  at  the  pot,  Babiche!'  That's  the 
way  to  call  a  hunter  to  his  share  of  meat.  I  was 
afraid,  for  the  sleep  of  cold  is  the  sleep  of  death, 
and  it  is  hard  to  call  the  soul  back  to  this  world. 
But  I  called,  and  kept  calling,  and  got  him  on 
his  feet,  with  my  arm  around  him.  I  gave  him 
more  brandy ,  and  at  last  I  almost  shrieked  in 
his  ear.  Little  by  little  I  saw  his  face  take  on 
the  look  of  waking  life.  It  was  like  the  dawn 
creeping  over  white  hills  and  spreading  into 
day.  I  said  to  myself,  What  a  thing  it  will  be 
if  I  can  fetch  him  back  !  For  I  never  knew 
one  to  come  back  after  the  sleep  had  settled  on 
them.  It  is  too  comfortable  —  all  pain  gone,  all 


38  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

trouble,  the  world  forgot,  just  a  kind  weight  in 
all  the  body,  as  you  go  sinking  down,  down  to 
the  valley,  where  the  long  hands  of  old  com- 
rades beckon  to  you,  and  their  soft,  high  voices 
cry,  "  Hello  !  hello-o  ! '  ^ 

Pierre  nodded  his  head  towards  the  distance, 
and  a  musing  smile  divided  his  lips  on  his  white 
teeth.  Presently  he  folded  a  cigarette,  and  went 
on  — 

"  I  had  saved  something  to  the  last,  as  the  great 
test ;  as  the  one  thing  to  open  his  eyes  wide,  if 
they  could  be  opened  at  all.  Alors,  there  was 
no  time  to  lose,  for  the  Wolf  of  Night  was  driv- 
ing the  red  glow-worm  down  behind  the  world, 
and  I  knew  that  when  darkness  came  altogether — 
darkness  and  night  —  there  would  be  no  help  for 
him.  Mon  Dieu  !  how  one  sleeps  in  the  night 
of  the  north,  in  the  beautiful  wide  silence  !  .  .  . 
So,  m'sieu',  just  when  I  thought  it  was  the  time, 
I  called  :  '  Corinne  !  Corinne  ! '  Then  once 
again  I  said,  'P  'tite  Corinne  !  P  'tite  Corinne  ! 
Come  home  !  come  home  !  P  'tite  Corinne  ! '  I 
could  see  the  fight  in  the  jail  of  sleep.  But  at 
last  he  killed  his  jailer  ;  the  doors  in  his  brain 
flew  open,  and  his  mind  came  out  through  his 
wide  eyes.  But  he  was  blind  a  little  and  dazed, 
though  it  was  getting  dark  quick.  I  struck  his 
back  hard,  and  spoke  loud  from  a  song  that  we 


Little  Babiche  39 

used  to  sing  on  the  Chaudiere  —  Babiche  and 
all  of  us,  years  ago.  Mon  Dieu!  how  I  remem- 
ber those  days  ! 

" '  Which  is  the  way  that  the  sun  goes  ? 

The  way  that  my  little  one  come. 
Which  is  the  good  path  over  the  hills  ? 

The  path  that  leads  to  my  little  one's  home  — 
To  my  little  one's  home,  m'sieu',  m'sieu'!' 

"  That  did  it.  '  Corinne,  ma  p  'the  Corinne  ! ' 
he  said  ;  but  he  did  not  look  at  me — only 
stretch  out  his  hands.  I  caught  them,  and  squeeze 
them,  and  shook  him,  and  made  him  take  a  step 
forward  ;  then  I  slap  him  on  the  back  again,  and 
said  loud,  'Come,  come,  Babiche,  don't  you 
know  me  ?  See,  Babiche,  the  snow's  no  sleeping- 
bunk,  and  a  polar  bear 's  no  good  friend.'  '  Cor- 
inne ! '  he  went  on,  soft  and  slow.  '  Ma  p  'tite 
Corinne  ! '  He  smiled  to  himself ;  and  I  said, 
'  Where  've  you  been,  Babiche  ?  Lucky  I  found 
you,  or  you  'd  have  been  sleeping  till  the  Great 
Mass.'  Then  he  looked  at  me  straight  in  the 
eyes,  and  something  wild  shot  out  of  his.  His 
hand  stretched  over  and  caught  me  by  the  shoul- 
der, perhaps  to  steady  himself,  perhaps  because 
be  wanted  to  feel  something  human.  Then  he 
looked  round  slow  —  all  round  the  plain,  as  if 
to  find  something.  At  that  moment  a  little  of 
the  sun  crept  back,  and  looked  up  over  the  wall 


40  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

of  ice,  making  a  glow  of  yellow  and  red  for  a 
moment ;  and  never,  north  or  south,  have  I 
seen  such  beauty  —  so  delicate,  so  awful.  It  was 
like  a  world  that  its  Maker  had  built  in  a  fit  of 
joy,  and  then  got  tired  of,  and  broke  in  pieces, 
and  blew  out  all  its  fires,  and  left  —  ah  yes  — 
like  that !  And  out  in  the  distance  I  —  I  only 
saw  a  bear  travelling  eastward." 
The  governor  said  slowly  : 

" '  And  I  took  My  staff  Beauty,  and  cut  it  asunder, 
that  I  might  break  My  covenant  which  I  had  made 
with  all  the  people. ' ' 

"Yes — like  that."  Pierre  continued  :  "  Ba- 
biche  turned  to  me  with  a  little  laugh,  which 
was  a  sob  too.  '  Where  is  it,  Pierre  ? '  said  he. 
I  knew  he  meant  the  bear.  '  Gone  to  look  for 
another  man,'  I  said,  with  a  gay  look,  for  I  saw 
that  he  was  troubled.  '  Come,'  said  he,  at  once. 
As  we  went,  he  saw  my  dogs.  He  stopped  short 
and  shook  a  little,  and  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 
'  What  is  it,  Babiche  ? '  said  I.  He  looked  back 
towards  the  south.  '  My  dogs  —  Brandy-wine, 
Come-along,  'Poleon,  and  the  rest — died  one 
night  all  of  an  hour.  One  by  one  they  crawl 
over  to  where  I  lay  in  my  fur  bag,  and  die  there, 
huddling  by  me  —  and  such  cries  —  such  cries  ! 
There  was  poison  or  something  in  the  frozen 
fish  I  'd  given  them.  I  loved  them  every  one ; 


Little  Babiche  41 

and  then  there  was  the  mails,  the  year's  mails — 
how  should  they  be  brought  on  ?  That  was  a 
bad  thought,  for  I  had  never  missed  —  never  in 
ten  years.  There  was  one  bunch  of  letters  which 
the  governor  said  to  me  was  worth  more  than  all 
the  rest  of  the  mail  put  together,  and  I  was  to 
bring  it  to  Fort  St.  Saviour,  or  not  show  my  face 
to  him  again. 

"  'I  leave  the  dogs  there  in  the  snow,  and  came 
on  with  the  sled,  carrying  all  the  mails.  Ah, 
the  blessed  saints,  how  heavy  the  sled  got,  and 
how  lonely  it  was  !  Nothing  to  speak  to  —  no 
one,  no  thing,  day  after  day.  At  last  I  go  to 
cry  to  the  dogs,  "  Come-along  !  'Poleon  !  Bran- 
dy-wine !  " —  like  that !  I  think  I  see  them  there, 
but  they  never  bark  and  they  never  snarl,  and 
they  never  spring  to  the  snap  of  the  whip.  .  .  . 
I  was  alone.  Oh,  my  head  !  my  head  !  If  there 
was  only  something  alive  to  look  at,  besides  the 
wide  white  plain,  and  the  bare  hills  of  ice,  and 
the  sun-dogs  in  the  sky  !  Now  I  was  wild,  next 
hour  I  was  like  a  child,  then  I  gnashed  my  teeth 
like  a  wolf  at  the  sun,  and  at  last  I  got  on  my 
knees.  The  tears  froze  my  eye-lids  shut,  but  I 
kept  saying,  "Ah,  my  great  Friend,  my  Je"su,  just 
something,  something  with  the  breath  of  life  ! 
Leave  me  not  all  alone  !  "  And  I  got  sleepier 
all  the  time. 


42  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

'"I  was  sinking,  sinking,  so  quiet  and  easy, 
when  all  at  once  I  felt  something  beside  me  ;  I 
could  hear  it  breathing,  but  I  could  not  open  my 
eyes  at  first,  for,  as  I  say,  the  lashes  were  froze. 
Something  touch  me,  smell  me,  and  a  nose  was 
push  against  my  chest.  I  put  out  my  hand  ver* 
soft  and  touch  it.  I  had  no  fear  ;  I  was  so  glad 
I  could  have  hugged  it,  but  I  did  not — I  drew 
back  my  hand  quiet  and  rub  my  eyes.  In  a  little 
I  can  see.  There  stand  the  thing — a  polar  bear 

—  not  ten  feet  away,  its  red  eyes  shining.     On 
my  knees  I  spoke  to  it,  talk  to  it,  as  I  would  to 
a  man.     It  was  like  a  great  wild  dog,  fierce,  yet 
kind,  and  I  fed  it  with  the  fish  which  had  been 
for  Brandy-wine  and  the  rest  —  but  not  to  kill 
it !  and  it  did  not  die. 

"  'That  night  I  lie  down  in  my  bag  —  no,  I  was 
not  afraid  !  The  bear  lie  beside  me,  between  me 
and  the  sled.  Ah,  it  was  warm  !  Day  after  day 
we  travel  together,  and  camp  together  at  night 

—  ah,  sweet  Sainte  Anne,  how  good  it  was,  my- 
self and  the  wild  beast  such  friends,  alone  in  the 
north  !     But  to-day  —  a  little  while  ago —  some- 
thing went  wrong  with  me,  and  I  got  sick  in  the 
head,  a  swimming  like  a  tide  wash  in  and  out.  I 
fell  down  —  asleep.     When  I  wake  I  find  you 
here  beside  me  —  that  is  all.     The  bear  must 
have  drag  me  here.'  " 


Little  Babiche  43 

Pierre  stuck  a  splinter  into  the  fire  to  light 
another  cigarette,  and  paused  as  if  expecting  the 
governor  to  speak,  but  no  word  coming,  he  con- 
tinued :  "  I  had  my  arm  around  him  while  we 
talked  and  come  slowly  down  the  hill.  Soon  he 
stopped  and  said,  '  This  is  the  place.'  It  was  a 
cave  of  ice,  and  we  went  in.  Nothing  was  there 
to  see  except  the  sled.  Babiche  stopped  short. 
It  come  to  him  now  that  his  good  comrade  was 
gone.  He  turned,  and  looked  out,  and  called, 
but  there  was  only  the  empty  night,  the  ice,  and 
the  stars.  Then  he  come  back,  sat  down  on  the 
sled,  and  the  tears  fall.  ...  I  lit  my  spirit- 
lamp,  boiled  coffee,  got  pemmican  from  my  bag, 
and  I  tried  to  make  him  eat.  No,  he  would  only 
drink  the  coffee.  At  last  he  said  to  me,  '  What 
day  is  this,  Pierre  ? '  '  It  is  the  day  of  the  Great 
Birth,  Babiche,'  I  said.  He  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  and  was  quiet,  so  quiet !  but  he  smile 
to  himself,  and  kept  saying  in  a  whisper,  '  Ma 
p'tite  Corinne !  Ma  p'tite  Corinne ! '  The 
next  day  we  come  on  safe,  and  in  a  week  I  was 
back  at  Fort  St.  Saviour  with  Babiche  and  all 
the  mails,  and  that  most  wonderful  letter  of  the 
governor's." 

"  The  letter  was  to  tell  a  factor  that  his  sick 
child  in  the  hospital  at  Quebec  was  well,"  the 


44  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

governor  responded  quietly  :  "  Who  was  '  Ma 
p'tite  Corinne,'  Pierre  ?  " 

"His  wife — in  heaven;  and  his  child — on 
the  Chaudiere,  m'sieu'.  The  child  came  and 
the  mother  went  on  the  same  day  of  the  Great 
Birth.  He  has  a  soft  heart  —  that  Babiche  ! " 

"  And  the  white  bear — so  strange  a  thing ! " 

"  M'sieu',  who  can  tell?  The  world  is  young 
up  here.  When  it  was  all  young,  man  and  beast 
were  good  comrades,  maybe." 

"  Ah,  maybe.  What  shall  be  done  with  Little 
Babiche,  Pierre?" 

"  He  will  never  be  the  same  again  on  the  old 
trail,  m'sieu' ! " 

There  was  silence  for  a  long  time,  but  at  last 
the  governor  said,  musing,  almost  tenderly,  for 
he  never  had  a  child  :  "  Ma  p'tite  Corinne  !  — 
Little  Babiche  shall  live  near  his  child,  Pierre. 
I  will  see  to  that." 

Pierre  said  no  word,  but  got  up,  took  off  his 
hat  to  the  governor,  and  sat  down  again. 


At  Point  o'  Bugles 

"John  York,  John  York,  -where  art  thou  gone, 
John  York?" 

"  What 's  that,  Pierre  ?  "  said  Sir  Duke  Law- 
less, starting  to  his  feet  and  peering  round. 

"  Hush ! "  was  Pierre's  reply.  "  Wait  for  the 
rest.  .  .  .  There!" 

"  King  of  my  heart,  king  of  my  heart,  I  am 
out  on  the  trail  of  thy  bugles" 

Sir  Duke  was  about  to  speak,  but  Pierre  lifted 
a  hand  in  warning,  and  then  through  the  still 
night  there  came  the  long  cry  of  a  bugle,  rising, 
falling,  strangely  clear,  echoing  and  echoing 
again,  and  dying  away.  A  moment,  and  the  call 
was  repeated,  with  the  same  effect,  and  again  a 
third  time ;  then  all  was  still,  save  for  the  flight 
of  birds  roused  from  the  desire  of  night,  and  the 
long  breath  of  some  animal  in  the  woods  sinking 
back  to  sleep. 

Their  camp  was  pitched  on  the  south  shore 
of  Hudson's  Bay,  many  leagues  to  the  west  of 
Rupert  House,  not  far  from  the  Moose  River. 
Looking  north  was  the  wide  expanse  of  bay, 

45 


46  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

dotted  with  sterile  islands  here  and  there ;  to  the 
east  were  the  barren  steppes  of  Labrador,  and  all 
round  them  the  calm,  incisive  air  of  a  late  Septem- 
ber, when  winter  begins  to  shake  out  his  frosty  cur- 
tains and  hang  them  on  the  cornice  of  the  north, 
despite  the  high  protests  of  the  sun.  The  two 
adventurers  had  come  together  after  years  of 
separation,  and  Sir  Duke  had  urged  Pierre  to 
fare  away  with  him  to  Hudson's  Bay,  which  he 
had  never  seen,  although  he  had  shares  in  the 
great  Company,  left  him  by  his  uncle  the  ad- 
miral. 

They  were  camped  in  a  hollow,  to  the  right  a 
clump  of  hardy  trees,  with  no  great  deal  of  foli- 
age but  some  stoutness ;  to  the  left  a  long  finger 
of  land  running  out  into  the  water  like  a  wedge, 
the  most  eastern  point  of  the  western  shore  of 
Hudson's  Bay.  It  was  high  and  bold,  and, 
somehow,  had  a  fine  dignity  and  beauty.  From 
it  a  path  led  away  north  to  a  great  log-fort  called 
King's  House. 

Lawless  saw  Pierre  half  rise  and  turn  his  head, 
listening,  Presently  he  too  heard  the  sound  — 
the  soft  crash  of  crisp  grass  under  the  feet.  He 
raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture  and  waited. 

Presently  a  tall  figure  came  out  of  the  dusk 
into  the  light  of  their  fire,  and  a  long  arm  waved 
a  greeting  at  them.  Both  Lawless  and  Pierre 


At  Point  o'  Bugles  47 

rose  to  their  feet.  The  stranger  was  dressed  in 
buckskin,  he  carried  a  rifle,  and  around  his 
shoulder  was  a  strong  yellow  cord,  from  which 
hung  a  bugle. 

"How.'"  he  said,  with  a  nod,  and  drew  near 
the  fire,  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze. 

"How!"  said  Lawless  and  Pierre. 

After  a  moment  Lawless  drew  from  his  blanket 
a  flask  of  brandy,  and  without  a  word  handed  it 
over  the  fire.  The  fingers  of  the  two  men  met 
in  the  flicker  of  the  flames,  a  sort  of  bond  by  fire, 
and  the  stranger  raised  the  flask. 

"  Chin-chin/"  he  said,  and  drank,  breathing  a 
long  sigh  of  satisfaction  afterwards  as  he  handed 
it  back ;  but  it  was  Pierre  that  took  it,  and 
again  fingers  touched  in  the  bond  of  fire.  Pierre 
passed  the  flask  to  Lawless,  who  lifted  it. 

"  Chin-chin /"  he  said,  drank,  and  gave  the 
flask  to  Pierre  again,  who  did  as  did  the  others, 
and  said  "Chin-chin!"  also. 

By  that  salutation  of  the  east,  given  in  the  far 
north,  Lawless  knew  that  he  had  met  one  who 
had  lighted  fires  where  men  are  many  and  close 
to  the  mile  as  holes  in  a  sieve. 

They  all  sat  down,  and  tobacco  went  round, 
the  stranger  offering  his,  while  the  two  others, 
with  true  hospitality,  accepted. 

"We  heard  you  over  there — it  was  you?" 


48  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

said  Lawless,  nodding  towards  Point  o'  Bugles, 
and  glancing  at  the  bugle  the  other  carried. 

"Yes,  it  was  me,"  was  the  reply.  "Some  one 
always  does  it  twice  a  year:  on  the  25th  Sep- 
tember and  the  25th  March.  I  've  done  it  now 
without  a  break  for  ten  years,  until  it  has  got  to 
be  a  sort  of  religion  with  me,  and  the  whole 
thing  's  as  real  as  if  King  George  and  John  York 
were  talking.  As  I  tramp  to  the  point  or  swing 
away  back,  in  summer  barefooted,  and  in  winter 
on  my  snow-shoes,  to  myself  I  seem  to  be  John 
York  on  the  trail  of  the  king's  bugles.  I  've 
thought  so  much  about  the  whole  thing,  I  've 
read  so  many  of  John  York's  letters — and  how 
many  times  one  of  the  king's!  —  that  now  I 
scarcely  know  which  is  the  bare  story,  and  which 
the  bits  I  've  dreamed  as  I  've  tramped  over  the 
plains  or  sat  in  the  quiet  at  King's  House,  spell- 
ing out  little  by  little  the  man's  life,  from  the 
cues  I  found  in  his  journal,  in  the  Company's 
papers,  and  in  that  one  letter  of  the  king's." 

Pierre's  eyes  were  now  more  keen  than  those 
of  Lawless :  for  years  he  had  known  vaguely  of 
this  legend  of  Point  o'  Bugles. 

"You  know  it  all,"  he  said.  "Begin  at  the 
beginning  :  how  and  when  you  first  heard,  how 
you  got  the  real  story,  and  never  mind  which  is 
taken  from  the  papers  and  which  from  your  own 


At  Point  o'  Bugles  49 

mind — if  it  all  fits  in  it  is  all  true,  for  the  lie 
never  fits  in  right  with  the  square  truth.  If  you 
have  the  footprints  and  the  handprints  you  can 
tell  the  whole  man  ;  if  you  have  the  horns  of  a 
deer  you  knoAv  it  as  if  you  had  killed  it,  skinned 
it,  and  potted  it." 

The  stranger  stretched  himself  before  the  fire 
nodding  at  his  hosts  as  he  did  so,  and  then 
began : 

"Well,  a  word  about  myself,  first,"  he  said,  "so 
you'll  know  just  where  you  are.  I  was  full  up 
of  life  in  London  town  and  India,  and  that 's  a 
fact.  I'd  plenty  of  friends  and  little  money,  and 
my  will  was  n't  equal  to  the  task  of  keeping  out 
of  the  hands  of  the  Jews.  I  did  n't  know  what 
to  do,  but  I  had  to  go  somewhere,  that  was  clear. 
Where  ?  An  accident  decided  it.  I  came  across 
an  old  journal  of  my  great-grandfather,  John 
York — my  name's  Dick  Adderley — and  just  as 
if  a  chain  had  been  put  round  my  leg  and  I'd 
been  jerked  over  by  the  tipping  of  the  world,  I 
had  to  come  to  Hudson's  Bay.  John  York's 
journal  was  a  thing  to  sit  up  nights  to  read.  It 
came  back  to  England  after  he'd  had  his  fill  of 
Hudson's  Bay  and  the  earth  beneath,  and  had 
gone,  as  he  himself  said  on  the  last  page  of  the 
journal,  to  follow  the  king's  buglers  in  'the  land 
that  is  far  off.'  God  and  the  devil  were  strong 


5O  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

in  old  John  York.  I  did  n't  lose  much  time 
after  I'd  read  the  journal.  I  went  to  Hudson's 
Bay  House  in  London,  got  a  place  in  the  Com- 
pany, by  the  help  of  the  governor  himself,  and 
came  out.  I  've  learned  the  rest  of  the  history 
of  old  John  York — the  part  that  never  got  to 
England;  for  here  at  King's  House  there's  a 
holy  tradition  that  the  real  John  York  belongs 
to  it  and  to  it  alone." 

Adderley  laughed  a  little.  "  King's  House 
guards  John  York's  memory,  and  it 's  as  fresh 
and  real  here  now  as  though  he  'd  died  yester- 
day, though  it's  forgotten  in  England,  and  by 
most  who  bear  his  name,  and  the  present  Prince 
of  Wales  maybe  never  heard  of  the  man  who  was 
a  close  friend  of  the  prince  regent,  the  first  gen- 
tleman of  Europe." 

"That  sounds  sweet  gossip,"  said  Lawless 
with  a  smile;  "we're  waiting." 

Adderley  continued  :  "John  York  was  an  hon- 
est man,  of  wholesome  sport,  jovial,  and  never 
shirking  with  the  wine,  commendable  in  his 
appetite,  of  rollicking  soul  and  proud  temper, 
and  a  gay  dog  altogether — gay,  but  to  be 
trusted,  too,  for  he  had  a  royal  heart.  In  the 
coltish  days  of  the  prince  regent  he  was  a  boon 
comrade,  but  never  did  he  stoop  to  flattery,  nor 
would  he  hedge  when  truth  should  be  spoken,  as 


At  Point  o'  Bugles  51 

ofttimes  it  was  needed  with  the  royal  blade,  for 
at  times  he  would  forget  that  a  prince  was  yet  a 
man,  topped  with  the  accident  of  a  crown. 
Never  prince  had  truer  friend,  and  so  in  his  best 
hours  he  thought,  himself,  and  if  he  ever  was 
just  and  showed  his  better  part  it  was  to  the  bold 
country  gentleman  who  never  minced  praise  or 
blame,  but  said  his  say  and  devil  take  the  end  of 
it.  In  truth,  the  prince  was  wilful,  and  once  he 
did  a  thing  which  might  have  given  a  twist  to  the 
fate  of  England.  Hot  for  the  love  of  women, 
and  with  some  dash  of  real  romance  in  him,  too 
— else  even  as  a  prince  he  might  have  had  shal- 
lower love  and  service  —  he  called  John  York 
one  day  and  said  : 

"'To-night  at  seven,  Squire  John,  you'll  stand 
with  me  while  I  put  the  seal  on  the  Gates  of 
Eden ! '  and,  when  the  other  did  not  guess  his 
import,  added:  'Sir  Mark  Selby  is  your  neigh- 
bour—  his  daughter's  for  my  arms  to-night. 
You  know  her,  handsome  Sally  Selby — she's 
for  your  prince,  for  good  or  ill.' 

"John  York  did  not  understand  at  first,  for  he 
could  not  think  the  prince  had  anything  in  mind 
but  some  hot  escapade  of  love.  When  Mistress 
Selby's  name  was  mentioned  his  heart  stood  still, 
for  she  had  been  his  choice,  the  dear  apple  of 
his  eye,  since  she  had  bloomed  towards  woman- 


52  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

hood.  He  had  set  all  his  hopes  upon  her,  tar- 
rying till  she  should  have  seen  some  little  life 
before  he  asked  her  for  his  wife.  He  had  her 
father's  God-speed  to  his  wooing,  for  he  was  a 
man  whom  all  men  knew  honest  and  generous  as 
the  sun,  and  only  choleric  with  the  mean  thing. 
She,  also,  had  given  him  good  cause  to  think 
that  he  should  one  day  take  her  to  his  home,  a 
loved  and  honoured  wife.  His  impulse,  when 
her  name  passed  the  prince's  lips,  was  to  draw 
his  sword,  for  he  would  have  called  an  emperor 
to  account ;  but  presently  he  saw  the  real  mean- 
ing of  the  speech ;  that  the  prince  would  marry 
her  that  night." 

Here  the  story-teller  paused  again,  and  Pierre 
said  softly,  inquiringly : 

"  You  began  to  speak  in  your  own  way,  and 
you  've  come  to  another  way — like  going  from 
an  almanac  to  the  Mass." 

The  other  smiled.  "  That's  so.  I  've  heard 
it  told  by  old  Shearton  at  King's  House,  who 
speaks  as  if  he'd  stepped  out  of  Shakespeare, 
and  somehow  I  seem  to  hear  him  talking,  and 
I  tell  it  as  he  told  it  last  year  to  the  governor  of 
the  Company.  Besides,  I  've  listened  these  seven 
years  to  his  style." 

"It's  a  strange  beginning — unwritten  history 
of  England,"  said  Sir  Duke  musingly. 


At  Point  o*  Bugles  53 

"You  shall  hear  stranger  things  yet,"  an- 
swered Adderley.  "John  York  could  hardly 
believe  it  at  first,  for  the  thought  of  such  a  thing 
never  had  place  in  his  mind.  Besides,  the  prince 
knew  how  he  had  looked  upon  the  lady,  and  he 
could  not  have  thought  his  comrade  would  come 
in  between  him  and  his  happiness.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  difficulty,  adding  spice  to  the  affair,  that 
sent  the  prince  to  the  appeal  of  private  marriage 
to  win  the  lady,  and  John  York  always  held  that 
he  loved  her  truly  then,  the  first  and  only  real 
affection  of  his  life.  The  lady — who  can  tell 
what  won  her  over  from  the  honest  gentleman  to 
the  faithless  prince  ?  That  soul  of  vanity  which 
wraps  about  the  real  soul  of  every  woman  fell 
down  at  last  before  the  highest  office  in  the  land, 
and  the  gifted  bearer  of  the  office.  But  the 
noble  spirit  in  her  brought  him  to  offer  marriage, 
when  he  might  otherwise  have  offered,  say,  a 
barony.  There  is  a  record  of  that  and  more  in 
John  York's  memoirs  which  I  will  tell  you,  for 
they  have  settled  in  my  mind  like  an  old  song, 
and  I  learned  them  long  ago.  I  give  you  John 
York's  words,  written  by  his  own  hand  : 

" '  I  did  not  think  when  I  beheld  thee  last, 
dearest  flower  of  the  world's  garden,  that  I  should 
see  thee  bloom  in  that  wide  field,  rank  with  the 
sorrows  of  royal  favor.  How  did  my  foolish 


54  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

eyes  fill  with  tears  when  I  watched  thee,  all  rose 
and  gold  in  thy  cheeks  and  hair,  the  light  tailing 
on  thee  through  the  chapel  window,  putting  thy 
pure  palm  into  my  prince's,  swearing  thy  life 
away,  selling  the  very  blossoms  of  earth's  or- 
chards for  the  briar  beauty  of  a  hidden  vine- 
yard !  I  saw  the  flying  glories  of  thy  cheeks, 
the  halcyon  weather  of  thy  smile,  the  delicate 
lifting  of  thy  bosom,  the  dear  gaiety  of  thy 
step,  and,  at  that  moment,  I  mourned  for  thy 
sake  that  thou  wert  not  the  dullest  wench  in  the 
land,  for  then  thou  hadst  been  spared  thy  miser- 
ies ;  thou  hadst  been  saved  the  torture-boot  of 
a  lost  love  and  a  disacknowledged  wifedom. 
Yet  I  could  not  hide  from  me  that  thou  wert 
happy  at  that  great  moment  when  he  swore  to 
love  and  cherish  thee  till  death  ye  parted.  Ah, 
George,  my  prince,  my  king,  how  wickedly  thou 
didst  break  thy  vows  with  both  of  us  who  loved 
thee  well,  through  good  and  ill  report  —  for  they 
spake  evil  of  thee,  George  ;  aye,  the  meanest  of 
thy  subjects  spake  lightly  of  their  king — when 
with  that  sweet  soul  secretly  hid  away  in  the  far- 
thest corner  of  thy  kingdom,  thou  soughtst  di- 
vorce from  thy  later  Caroline,  whom  thou, 
unfaithful,  didst  charge  with  infidelity.  When, 
at  last,  thou  didst  turn  again  to  the  partner  of 
thy  youth,  thy  true  wife  in  the  eyes  of  God,  it 


At  Point  o'  Bugles  55 

was  too  late.  Thou  didst  promise  me  that  thou 
wouldst  never  take  another  wife,  never  put  our 
dear  heart  away,  though  she  could  not — after 
our  miserable  laws — bear  thee  princes.  Thou 
didst  break  thy  promise,  yet  she  forgave  thee, 
and  I  forgave  thee,  for  well  we  knew  that  thou 
wouldst  pay  a  heavy  reckoning,  and  that  in  the 
hour  when  thou  shouldst  cry  to  us  we  might  not 
come  to  thee  ;  that  in  the  days  when  age  and 
sorrow  and  vast  troubles  should  oppress  thee, 
thou  wouldst  long  for  the  true  hearts  who  loved 
thee  for  thyself  and  not  for  aught  thou  couldst 
give,  or  aught  that  thou  wert,  save  as  a  man. 

"  '  When  thou  didst  proclaim  thy  purpose  tc 
take  Caroline  to  wife,  I  pleaded  with  thee,  I  was 
wroth  with  thee.  Thy  one  plea  was  succession. 
Succession  !  Succession  !  What  were  a  hundred 
dynasties  beside  that  precious  life,  eaten  by 
shame  and  sorrow  ?  It  were  easy  for  others, 
not  thy  children,  to  come  after  thee,  to  rule  as 
well  as  thee,  as  must  even  now  be  the  case,  for 
thou  hast  no  lawful  child  save  that  one  in  the 
loneliest  corner  of  thy  English  vineyard  —  alack! 
alack  !  I  warned  thee,  George  ;  I  pleaded,  and 
thou  didst  drive  me  out  with  words  ill-suited  to 
thy  friend  who  loved  thee. 

" '  I  did  not  fear  thee  ;  I  would  have  forced 
thee  to  thy  knees  or  made  thee  fight  me,  had 


56  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

not  some  good  spirit  cried  to  my  heart  that  thou 
wert  her  husband,  and  that  we  both  had  loved 
thee.  I  dared  not  listen  to  the  brutal  thing 
thou  hintedst  at — that  now  I  might  fatten  where 
I  had  hungered.  Thou  hadst  to  answer  for  the 
baseness  of  that  thought  to  the  King  of  kings, 
when  thou  wentest  forth  alone ;  no  subject, 
courtier,  friend,  wife  or  child  to  do  thee  service, 
journeying  —  not  en  prince,  George;  no,  not 
en  prince .'  but  as  a  naked  soul  to  God. 

"'Thou  saidst  to  me:  "Get  thee  gone, 
John  York,  where  I  shall  no  more  see  thee." 
And  when  I  returned,  "  Wouldst  thou  have  me 
leave  thy  country,  sir?"  thou  answeredst,  "Blow 
thy  quarrelsome  soul  to  the  stars  where  my  far- 
thest bugle  cries!"  Then  I  said  :  "I  go,  sir,  till 
thou  callest  me  again  —  and  after  :  but  not  till 
thou  hast  honored  the  child  of  thy  honest  wed- 
lock ;  till  thou  hast  secured  thy  wife  to  the  end 
of  her  life  against  all  manner  of  trouble  save 
the  shame  of  thy  disloyalty."  There  was  no 
more  for  me  to  do,  for  my  deep  love  itself  for- 
bade my  staying  longer  within  reach  of  the  noble, 
deserted  soul.  And  so  I  saw  the  chastened 
glory  of  her  face  no  more,  nor  nevermore  beheld 
her  perfectness.' " 

Adderley  paused  once  more,  and,  after  refill- 
ing his  pipe  in  silence,  continued : 


At  Point  o'  Bugles  57 

"  That  was  the  heart  of  the  thing.  His  soul 
sickened  of  the  rank  world,  as  he  called  it,  and 
he  came  out  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  country,  leav- 
ing his  estates  in  care  of  his  nephew,  but  taking 
many  stores  and  great  chests  of  clothes  and  a 
shipload  of  furniture,  instruments  of  music, 
more  than  a  thousand  books,  some  good  pic- 
tures, and  great  stores  of  wine.  Here  he  came 
and  stayed,  an  officer  of  the  Company,  building 
King's  House,  and  filling  it  with  all  the  fine 
things  he  had  brought  with  him,  making  in  this 
far  north  a  little  palace  in  the  wilderness.  Here 
he  lived,  his  great  heart  growing  greater  in  this 
wide,  sinewy  world,  King's  House  a  place  of  pil- 
grimage for  all  the  Company's  men  in  the  north  ; 
a  noble  gentleman  in  a  sweet  exile,  loving  what 
he  could  no  more,  what  he  did  no  more,  see. 

"  Twice  a  year  he  went  to  that  point  yonder 
and  blew  this  bugle,  no  man  knew  why  or  where- 
fore, year  in  and  year  out,  till  1817.  Then  there 
came  a  letter  to  him  with  great  seals,  which  be- 
gan :  'John  York,  John  York,  where  art  thou 
gone,  John  York  ? '  Then  followed  a  score  of 
sorrowful  sentences,  full  of  petulance,  too,  for  it 
was  as  John  York  foretold,  his  prince  longed  for 
the  true  souls  whom  he  had  cast  off.  But  he 
called  too  late,  for  the  neglected  wife  died  from 
the  shock  of  her  prince's  longing  message  to 


58  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

her,  and  when,  by  the  same  mail,  John  York 
knew  that,  he  would  not  go  back  to  England  to 
the  king.  But  twice  every  year  he  went  to  yon- 
der point  and  spoke  out  the  king's  word  to  him  : 
'John  York,  John  York,  where  art  thou  gone, 
John  York  ? '  and  gave  the  words  of  his  own 
letter  in  reply  :  '  King  of  my  heart,  king  of 
my  heart,  I  am  out  on  the  trail  of  thy  bugles.' 
To  this  he  added  three  calls  of  the  bugle,  as  you 
have  heard." 

Adderley  handed  the  bugle  to  Lawless,  who 
looked  at  it  with  deep  interest  and  passed  it  on 
to  Pierre. 

"When  he  died,"  Adderley  continued,  "he 
left  the  house,  the  fittings  and  the  stores  to  the 
officers  of  the  Company  who  should  be  sta- 
tioned there,  with  a  sum  of  money  yearly,  pro- 
vided that  twice  in  twelve  months  the  bugle 
should  be  blown  as  you  have  heard  it,  and  those 
words  called  out." 

"Why  did  he  do  that  ?"  asked  Lawless,  nod- 
ding towards  the  point. 

"Why  do  they  swing  the  censers  at  the 
Mass  ?  "  interjected  Pierre.  "  Man  has  signs  for 
memories,  and  one  man  seeing  another's  sign 
will  remember  his  own." 

"You  stay  because  you  like  it — at  King's 
House  ?  "  asked  Lawless  of  Adderley. 


At  Point  o'  Bugles  59 

The  other  stretched  himself  lazily  to  the  fire 
and,  "  I  am  at  home,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no 
cares.  I  had  all  there  was  of  that  other  world ; 
I  've  not  had  enough  of  this.  You  '11  come 
with  me  to  King's  House  to-morrow  ? "  he 
added. 

To  their  quick  assent  he  rejoined  :  "  You  '11 
never  want  to  leave.  You  '11  stay  on." 

To  this  Lawless  replied,  shaking  his  head  : 
"  I  have  a  wife  and  child  in  England." 

But  Pierre  did  not  reply.  He  lifted  the 
bugle,  mutely  asking  a  question  of  Adderley, 
who  as  mutely  replied,  and  then,  with  it  in  his 
hand,  left  the  other  two  beside  the  fire. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  heard,  with  three 
calls  of  the  bugle  from  the  Point  afterwards, 
Pierre's  voice  : 

"John  York,  John  York,  where  art  thou  gone, 
John  York?" 

Then  came  the  reply  : 

"  King  of  my  heart,  king  of  my  heart,  I  am  out 
on  the  trail  of  thy  bugles" 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma 

Just  at  the  point  where  the  Peace  River  first 
hugs  the  vast  outpost  hills  of  the  Rockies,  be- 
fore it  hurries  timorously  on,  through  an  unex- 
plored region,  to  Fort  St.  John,  there  stood  a 
hut.  It  faced  the  west,  and  was  built  half-way 
up  Clear  Mountain.  In  winter  it  had  snows 
above  it  and  below  it;  in  summer  it  had  snow 
above  it  and  a  very  fair  stretch  of  trees  and 
grass,  while  the  river  flowed  on  the  same  winter 
and  summer.  It  was  a  lonely  country.  Travel- 
ing north,  you  would  have  come  to  the  Turna- 
gain  River;  west  to  the  Frying  Pan  Mountains  ; 
south,  to  a  goodly  land.  But  from  the  hut  you 
had  no  outlook  towards  the  south  ;  your  eye 
came  plump  against  a  hard,  lofty  hill,  like  a  wall 
between  heaven  and  earth.  It  is  strange,  too, 
that,  when  you  are  in  the  far  north,  you  do  not 
look  towards  the  south  until  the  north  turns  an 
iron  hand  upon  you  and  refuses  the  hospitality 
of  food  and  fire  ;  your  eyes  are  drawn  towards 
the  Pole  by  that  charm — deadly  and  beautiful — 
60 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  6l 

for  which  men  have  given  up  three  points  of  the 
compass,  with  their  pleasures  and  ease,  to  seek  a 
grave  solitude,  broken  only  by  the  beat  of  a 
musk-ox's  hoofs,  the  long  breath  of  the  caribou, 
or  the  wild  cry  of  the  puma. 

Sir  Duke  Lawless  had  felt  this  charm,  and 
had  sworn  that  one  day  he  would  again  leave 
his  home  in  Devon  and  his  house  in  Pont 
Street  and,  finding  Pierre,  Shon  M'Gann  and 
others  of  his  old  comrades,  together  they  would 
travel  into  those  austere  yet  pleasant  wilds.  He 
kept  his  word,  found  Shon  M'Gann,  and  on  an 
autumn  day  of  a  year  not  so  long  ago  lounged 
in  this  hut  on  Clear  Mountain.  They  had  had 
three  months  of  travel  and  sport,  and  were  filled, 
but  not  sated,  with  the  joy  of  the  hunter.  They 
were  very  comfortable,  for  their  host,  Pourcette, 
the  French  Canadian,  had  fire  and  meat  in 
plenty,  and,  if  silent,  was  attentive  to  their  com- 
fort—  a  little,  black-bearded,  grey-headed  man, 
with  heavy  brows  over  small,  vigilant  eyes,  deft 
with  his  fingers  and  an  excellent  sportsman,  as 
could  be  told  from  the  skins  heaped  in  all  the 
corners  of  the  large  hut. 

The  skins  were  not  those  of  mere  foxes  or 
martens  or  deer,  but  of  mountain  lions  and 
grizzlies.  There  were  besides  many  soft,  tiger- 
like  skins,  which  Sir  Duke  did  not  recognize. 


62  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

He  kept  looking  at  them,  and  at  last  went  over 
and  examined  one. 

"  What's  this,  Monsieur  Pourcette  ?  "  he  said, 
feeling  it  as  it  lay  on  the  top  of  the  pile. 

The  little  man  pushed  the  log  on  the  fire- 
place with  his  moccasined  foot  before  he  re- 
plied: "Of  a  puma,  m'sieu'." 

Sir  Duke  smoothed  it  with  his  hand.  "I 
didn't  know  there  were  pumas  here." 

"Faith,  Sir  Duke—" 

Sir  Duke  Lawless  turned  on  Shon  quickly. 
"You're  forgetting  again,  Shon.  There's  no 
'Sir  Dukes'  between  us.  What  you  were  to  me 
years  ago  on  the  wallyby-track  and  the  buffalo- 
trail  you  are  now,  and  I  'm  the  same  also; 
M'Gann  and  Lawless  and  no  other." 

"Well,  then,  Lawless,  it's  true  enough  as  he 
says  it,  for  I  've  seen  more  than  wan  skin  brought 
in,  though  I  niver  clapped  eye  on  the  beast 
alive.  There 's  few  men  go  huntin'  them  av 
their  own  free  will,  not  more  than  they  do  griz- 
zlies; but,  bedad,  this  Frinch  gintleman  has 
either  the  luck  o'  the  world,  or  the  gift  o'  that 
man  ye  tould  me  of  that  slew  the  wild  boars  in 
anciency.  Look  at  that,  now:  there's  thirty  or 
forty  puma-skins,  and  I  'd  take  my  oath  there 
isn't  another  man  in  the  country  that 's  shot  half 
that  in  his  lifetime." 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  63 

Pourcette's  eyes  were  on  the  skins,  not  on 
the  men,  and  he  did  not  appear  to  listen.  He 
sat  leaning  forward,  with  a  strange  look  on  his 
face.  Presently  he  got  up,  came  over,  and 
stroked  the  skins  softly.  A  queer  chuckling 
noise  came  from  his  throat. 

"It  was  good  sport?"  asked  Lawless,  feeling 
a  new  interest  in  him. 

"The  grandest  sport  —  but  it  is  not  so  easy," 
answered  the  old  man.  "The  grizzly  comes  on 
you  bold  and  strong;  you  know  your  danger 
right  away,  and  have  it  out.  So !  But  the  puma 
comes  —  God,  how  the  puma  comes!"  He  broke 
off,  his  eyes  burning  bright  under  his  bushy 
brows  and  his  body  arranging  itself  into  an  atti- 
tude of  expectation  and  alertness. 

"You  have  travelled  far.  The  sun  goes  down. 
You  build  a  fire  and  cook  your  meat,  and  then 
good  tea  and  the  tabac.  It  is  ver'  fine.  You 
hear  the  loon  crying  on  the  water,  or  the  last 
whistle  of  the  heron  up  the  pass.  The  lights  in 
the  sky  come  out  and  shine  through  a  thin  mist 
—  there  is  nothing  like  that  mist,  it  is  so  fine 
and  soft.  Allans!  You  are  sleepy.  You  bless 
the  good  God.  You  stretch  pine  branches,  wrap 
in  your  blanket,  and  lie  down  to  sleep.  If  it  is 
winter  and  you  have  a  friend,  you  lie  close.  It 
is  all  quiet.  As  you  sleep,  something  comes.  It 


64  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

slides  along  the  ground  on  its  belly,  like  a 
snake.  It  is  a  pity  if  you  have  not  ears  that  feel 
—  the  whole  body  as  ears.  For  there  is  a  swift 
lunge,  a  snarl  —  ah,  you  should  hear  it!  the 
thing  has  you  by  the  throat,  and  there  is  an 
end!" 

The  old  man  had  acted  all  the  scenes :  a  side- 
long glance,  a  little  gesture,  a  movement  of  the 
body,  a  quick,  harsh  breath  —  without  emphatic 
excitement,  yet  with  a  reality  and  force  that 
fascinated  his  two  listeners.  When  he  paused, 
Shon  let  go  a  long  breath,  and  Lawless  looked 
with  keen  inquiry  at  their  entertainer.  This  al- 
most unnatural,  yet  quiet  intensity  had  behind 
it  something  besides  the  mere  spirit  of  the 
sportsman.  Such  exhibitions  of  feeling  generally 
have  an  unusual  personal  interest  to  give  them 
point  and  meaning. 

"Yes,  that 's  wonderful,  Pourcette,"  he  said; 
"but  that's  when  the  puma  has  things  its  own 
way.  How  is  it  when  these  come  off?"  He 
stroked  the  soft  furs  under  his  hand. 

The  man  laughed,  yet  without  a  sound  —  the 
inward,  stealthy  laugh,  as  from  a  knowledge 
wicked  in  its  very  suggestiveness.  His  eyes  ran 
from  Lawless  to  Shon,  and  back  again.  He  put 
his  hand  on  his  mouth,  as  though  for  silence, 
stole  noiselessly  over  to  the  wall,  took  down  his 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  6$ 

gun  quietly,  and  turned  around.  Then  he  spoke 
softly : 

"To  kill  the  puma,  you  must  watch  —  always 
watch.  You  will  see  his  yellow  eyes  sometimes 
in  a  tree;  you  must  be  ready  before  he  springs. 
You  will  hear  his  breath  at  night  as  you  pretend 
to  sleep,  and  you  wait  till  you  see  his  foot  steal 
out  of  the  shadow  —  then  you  have  him.  From 
a  mountain  wall  you  watch  in  the  morning,  and, 
when  you  see  him,  you  follow,  and  follow,  and 
do  not  rest  till  you  have  found  him.  You  must 
never  miss  fire,  for  he  has  great  strength  and  a 
mad  tooth.  But  when  you  have  got  him,  he  is 
worth  all.  You  cannot  eat  the  grizzly  —  he  is 
too  thick  and  coarse  ;  but  the  puma  —  well,  you 
had  him  for  the  pot  to-night.  Was  he  not  good  ?  " 

Lawless's  brows  ran  up  in  surprise.  Shon 
spoke  quickly  : 

"Heaven  above!"  he  burst  out.  "Was  it 
puma  we  had  betune  the  teeth  ?  And  what 's 
puma  but  an  almighty  cat  ?  Sure,  though,  it 
wint  as  tender  as  pullets,  for  all  that,  but  I  wish 
you  had  n't  tould  us." 

The  old  man  stood  leaning  on  his  gun, 
his  chin  on  his  hands  as  they  covered  the 
muzzle,  his  eyes  fixed  on  something  in  his 
memory,  the  vision  of  incidents  he  had  lived  or 
seen. 


66  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

Lawless  went  over  to  the  fire  and  relit  his 
pipe.  Shon  followed  him.  They  both  watched 
Pourcette. 

"D'ye  think  he's  mad?"  asked  Shon  in  a 
whisper. 

Lawless  shook  his  head.  "  Mad  ?  No !  But 
there  's  more  in  his  puma-hunting  than  appears. 
How  long  has  he  lived  here,  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Four  years,  and  durin'  that  time  yours  and 
mine  are  the  only  white  faces  he  has  seen,  except 
one." 

"  Except  one.  Well,  whose  was  the  one  ? 
Maybe  there's  a  story  in  that." 

"  Faith,  Lawless,  there's  a  story  worth  the 
hearin',  I  'm  thinkin',  to  every  white  man  in 
this  country.  For  the  three  years  I  was  in  the 
mounted  police  I  could  count  a  story  for  all  the 
days  o'  the  calendar,  and  not  all  o'  them  would 
make  you  happy  to  hear." 

Pourcette  turned  round  to  them.  He  seemed 
to  be  listening  to  Shon's  words.  Going  to  the 
wall  he  hung  up  the  rifle,  then  he  came  to  the 
fire  and  stood  holding  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze. 
He  did  not  look  in  the  least  mad,  but  like  a  man 
who  was  dominated  by  some  one  thought,  more 
or  less  weird.  Short  and  slight,  and  a  little 
bent,  but  more  from  habit  —  the  habit  of  listen- 
ing and  watching  —  than  from  age,  his  face  had 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  67 

a  stern  kind  of  earnestness  and  loneliness,  and 
nothing  at  all  of  insanity. 

Presently  Lawless  went  to  a  corner,  and  from 
his  kit  drew  forth  a  flask.  The  old  man  saw,  and 
immediately  brought  out  a  wooden  cup.  There 
were  two  on  the  shelf,  and  Shon  pointed  to  the 
other.  Pourcette  took  no  notice.  Shon  went 
over  to  get  it,  but  Pourcette  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm:  "Not  that!"  he  said. 

"  For  ornainint ! "  said  Shon,  laughing,  and 
then  his  eyes  were  arrested  by  a  suit  of  buckskin 
and  a  cap  of  beaver,  hanging  on  the  wall.  He 
turned  them  over,  and  then  suddenly  drew  back 
his  hand,  for  he  saw  in  the  back  of  the  jacket  a 
knife-slit.  There  was  blood  also  on  the  buck- 
skin. 

"  Holy  Mary  ! "  he  said,  and  retreated. 
Lawless  had  not  noticed  ;  he  was  pouring  out 
the  liquor.  He  had  handed  the  cup  first  to 
Pourcette,  who  raised  it  towards  a  gun  hung 
above  the  fireplace,  and  said  something  under 
his  breath. 

"A  dramatic  little  fellow!  "  thought  Lawless  ; 
"  The  spirit  of  his  forefathers  —  a  good  deal  of 
heart,  a  little  of  the  poseur ." 

Then  hearing  Shon's  exclamation,  he  turned. 

"  It's  an  ugly  sight,"  said  Shon,  pointing  to 
the  jacket.  They  both  looked  at  Pourcette,  ex- 


68  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

pecting  him  to  speak.  The  old  man  reached  to 
the  coat,  and,  turning  it  so  that  the  cut  and  the 
blood  were  hid,  ran  his  hand  down  it  caressingly. 

"Ah,  poor  Jo!  poor  Jo  Gordineer ! "  he 
said  ;  then  he  came  over  once  more  to  the  fire, 
sat  down,  and  held  out  his  hands  to  the  fire, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Lawless,  give  me  a  drink  ! " 
said  Shon.  Their  eyes  met,  and  there  was  the 
same  look  in  the  faces  of  both.  When  Shon  had 
drunk,  he  said  :  "  So,  that's  what 's  come  to  our 
old  friend,  Jo — dead  —  killed  or  murdered — " 

"  Do  n't  speak  so  loud!  "  said  Lawless.  "  Let 
us  get  the  story  from  him  first." 

Years  before,  when  Shon  M'Gann  and  Pierre 
and  Lawless  had  sojourned  in  the  Pipi  Valley, 
Jo  Gordineer  had  been  with  them,  as  stupid 
and  true  a  man  as  ever  drew  in  his  buckle  in  a 
hungry  land,  or  let  it  out  to  much  corn  and  oil. 
When  Lawless  returned  to  find  Shon  and  others 
of  his  companions,  he  had  asked  for  Gordineer. 
But  not  Shon  nor  any  one  else  could  tell  aught 
of  him  ;  he  had  wandered  north  to  outlying 
goldfields,  and  then  had  disappeared  completely. 
But  there,  as  it  would  seem,  his  coat  and  cap 
hung,  and  his  rifle,  dust  covered,  kept  guard 
over  the  fire. 

Shon  went  over  to  the  coat,  did  as  Pourcette 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  69 

had  done,  and  said  :  "  Is  it  gone  y*  are,  Jo,  wid 
your  slow  tongue  and  your  big  heart  ?  Wan  by 
wan  the  lads  are  off." 

Pourcette,  without  any  warning,  began  speak- 
ing, but  in  a  very  quiet  tone  at  first,  as  if 
unconscious  of  the  others  : 

"  Poor  Jo  Gordineer  !  Yes,  he  is  gone.  He 
was  my  friend  —  so  tall,  and  such  a  hunter.  We 
were  at  the  Ding-Dong  goldfields  together. 
When  luck  went  bad,  I  said  to  him  :  'Come,  we 
will  go  where  there  is  plenty  of  wild  meat,  and  a 
summer  more  beautiful  than  in  the  south.'  I 
did  not  want  to  part  from  him,  for  once,  when 
some  miner  stole  my  claim,  and  I  fought,  he 
stood  by  me.  But  in  some  things  he  was  a  little 
child.  That  was  from  his  big  heart.  Well,  he 
would  go,  he  said  ;  and  we  come  away." 

He  suddenly  became  silent ;  and  shook  his 
head,  and  spoke  under  his  breath. 

"Yes,"  said  Lawless  quietly,  "you  went 
away.  What  then  ?  " 

He  looked  up  quickly,  as  though  just  aware 
of  their  presence,  and  continued : 

"Well,  the  other  followed,  as  I  said,  and — " 

"No,  Pourcette,"  interposed  Lawless,  "you 
didn't  say.  Who  was  the  other  that  followed  ?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  gravely,  and  a 
little  severely,  and  continued  : 


jo  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"As  I  said,  Gawdor  followed — he  and  an 
Indian.  Gawdor  thought  we  were  going  for 
gold,  because  I  had  said  I  knew  a  place  in  the 
north  where  there  was  gold  in  a  river — I  know 
the  place,  but  that  is  no  matter.  We  did  not  go 
for  gold  just  then.  Gawdor  hated  Jo  Gordi- 
neer.  There  was  a  half-breed  girl.  She  was 
fine  to  look  at.  She  would  have  gone  to  Gor- 
dineer  if  he  had  beckoned,  any  time;  but  he 
waited — he  was  very  slow,  except  with  his  finger 
on  a  gun;  he  waited  too  long.  Gawdor  was 
mad  for  the  girl.  He  knew  why  her  feet  came 
slow  to  the  door  when  he  knocked.  He  would 
have  quarrelled  with  Jo,  if  he  had  dared ;  Gordi- 
neer  was  too  quick  a  shot.  He  would  have 
killed  him  from  behind  ;  but  it  was  known  in 
the  camp  that  he  was  no  friend  of  Gordineer, 
and  it  was  not  safe." 

Again  Pourcette  was  silent.  Lawless  put  on 
his  knee  a  new  pipe  filled  with  tobacco.  The 
little  man  took  it,  lighted  it,  and  smoked  on  in 
silence  for  a  time  undisturbed.  Shon  broke  the 
silence,  by  a  whisper  to  Lawless : 

"Jo  was  a  quiet  man,  as  patient  as  a  priest ; 
but  when  his  blood  came  up,  there  was  trouble  in 
the  land.  Do  you  remimber  whin — " 

Lawless  interrupted  him  and  motioned  towards 
Pourcette.  The  old  man,  after  a  few  puffs,  held 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  71 

the  pipe  on  his  knee,  disregarding  it.  Lawless 
silently  offered  him  some  more  whisky,  but  he 
shook  his  head.  Presently  he  again  took  up  the 
thread : 

"  Bien,  we  travelled  slow  up  through  the 
Smoky  River  country,  and  beyond  into  a  wild 
land.  We  had  bully  sport  as  we  went.  Some- 
times I  heard  shots  far  away  behind  us ;  but 
Gordineer  said  it  was  my  guess,  for  we  saw 
nobody.  But  I  had  a  feeling.  Never  mind. 
At  last  we  come  to  the  Peace  River.  It  was  in 
the  early  autumn  like  this,  when  the  land  is  full 
of  comfort.  What  is  there  like  it  ?  Nothing. 
The  mountains  have  colours  like  a  girl's  eyes ; 
the  smell  of  the  trees  is  sweet  like  a  child's 
breath,  and  the  grass  feels  for  the  foot  and  lifts 
it  with  a  little  soft  spring.  We  said  we  could 
live  here  forever.  We  built  this  house  high  up, 
as  you  see,  first,  because  it  is  good  to  live  high 
— it  puts  life  in  the  blood;  and,  as  Gordineer 
said,  it  is  noble  to  look  far  over  the  world,  every 
time  your  house  door  is  open,  or  the  parchment 
is  down  from  the  window.  We  killed  wapiti  and 
caribou  without  number,  and  cached  them  for 
our  food.  We  caught  fish  in  the  river,  and  made 
tea  out  of  the  brown  berry — it  is  very  good.  We 
had  flour,  a  little,  which  we  had  brought  with  us, 
and  I  went  to  Fort  St.  John  and  got  more.  Since 


72  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

then,  down  in  the  valley,  I  have  wheat  every 
summer ;  for  the  Chinook  winds  blow  across  the 
mountains  and  soften  the  bitter  cold. 

"Well,  for  that  journey  to  Fort  St.  John. 
When  I  got  back  I  found  Gawdor  with  Gordin- 
eer.  He  said  he  had  come  north  to  hunt.  His 
Indian  had  left,  and  he  have  lost  his  way. 
Gordineer  believed  him.  He  never  lied  him- 
self. I  said  nothing,  but  watched.  After  a  time 
he  asked  where  the  goldfield  was.  I  told  him, 
and  he  started  away  —  it  was  about  fifty  miles  to 
the  north.  He  went,  and  on  his  way  back  he 
come  here.  He  say  he  could  not  find  the 
place,  and  was  going  south.  I  knew  he  lied. 
At  this  time  I  saw  that  Gordineer  was  changed. 
He  was  slow  in  the  head,  and  so,  when  he  begun 
thinking  up  here,  it  made  him  lonely.  It  is 
always  in  a  fine  land  like  this,  where  game  is 
plenty,  and  the  heart  dances  for  joy  in  your 
throat,  and  you  sit  by  the  fire  —  that  you  think 
of  some  woman  who  would  be  glad  to  draw  in 
and  tie  the  strings  of  the  tent  curtain,  or  fasten 
the  latch  of  the  door  upon  you  two  alone." 

Perhaps  some  memory  stirred  within  the  old 
man  other  than  that  of  his  dead  comrade,  for 
he  sighed,  muffled  his  mouth  in  his  beard,  and 
then  smiled  in  a  distant  way  at  the  fire.  The 
pure  truth  of  what  he  said  came  home  to  Shon 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  73 

M'Gann  and  Sir  Duke  Lawless;  for  both,  in 
days  gone  by,  had  sat  at  campfires  in  silent 
plains  and  thought  upon  women  from  whom 
they  believed  they  were  parted  forever,  yet  who 
were  only  kept  from  them  for  a  time,  to  give 
them  happier  days.  They  were  thinking  of 
these  two  women  now.  They  scarcely  knew 
how  long  they  sat  there  thinking.  Time  passes 
swiftly  when  thoughts  are  cheerful,  or  are  tinged 
with  the  soft  melancholy  of  a  brief  separation. 

At  last  the  old  man  continued :  "  I  saw  the 
thing  grew  on  him.  He  was  not  sulky,  but  he 
stare  much  in  the  fire  at  night.  In  the  daytime 
he  was  differen'.  A  hunter  thinks  only  of  his 
sport.  Gawdor  watched  him.  Gordineer's 
hand  was  steady;  his  nerve  was  all  right.  I 
I  have  seen  him  stand  still  till  a  grizzly  come 
within  twice  the  length  of  his  gun.  Then  he 
would  twist  his  mouth,  and  fire  into  the  mortal 
spot.  Once  we  were  out  in  the  Wide  Wing 
pass.  We  had  never  had  such  a  day.  Gordineer 
make  grand  shots,  better  than  my  own;  and 
men  have  said  I  can  shoot  like  the  devil  —  ha! 
ha!"  He  chuckled  to  himself  noiselessly,  and 
said  in  a  whisper  :  "Twenty  grizzlies,  and  fifty 
pumas ! " 

Then  he  rubbed  his  hands  softly  on  his 
knees,  and  spoke  aloud  again :  "/«',  I  was  proud 


74  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

of  him.  We  were  standing  together  on  a  ledge 
of  rock.  Gawdor  was  not  far  away.  Gawdor 
was  a  poor  hunter,  and  I  knew  he  was  wild  at 
Gordineer's  great  luck.  ...  A  splendid  bull- 
wapiti  come  out  on  a  rock  across  the  gully.  It 
was  a  long  shot.  I  did  not  think  Gordineer 
could  make  it;  I  was  not  sure  that  I  could  — 
the  wind  was  blowing  and  the  range  was  long. 
But  he  draw  up  his  gun  like  lightning,  and 
fire  all  at  once.  The  bull  dropped  clean  over 
the  cliff,  and  tumbled  dead  upon  the  rocks 
below.  It  was  fine.  But,  then,  Gordineer  slung 
his  gun  under  his  arm  and  say:  'That  is 
enough.  I  am  going  to  the  hut.' 

"  He  went  away.  That  night  he  did  not  talk. 
The  next  morning,  when  I  say,  '  We  will  be  off 
again  to  the  pass,'  he  shake  his  head.  He  would 
not  go.  He  would  shoot  no  more,  he  said.  I 
understood:  it  was  the  girl.  He  was  wide  awake 
at  last.  Gawdor  understanded  also.  He  know 
that  Gordineer  would  go  to  the  south — to  her. 
I  was  sorry;  but  it  was  no  use.  Gawdor  went 
with  me  to  the  pass.  When  we  come  back,  Jo 
was  gone.  On  a  bit  of  birch-bark  he  had  put 
where  he  was  going,  and  the  way  he  would  take. 
He  said  he  would  come  back  to  me — ah,  the 
brave  comrade!  Gawdor  say  nothing,  but  his 
looks  were  black.  I  had  a  feeling.  I  sat  up  all 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  75 

night  smoking.  I  was  not  afraid,  but  I  know 
Gawdor  had  found  the  valley  of  gold,  and  he 
might  put  a  knife  in  me,  because  to  know  of  such 
a  thing  alone  is  fine.  Just  at  dawn  he  got  up  and 
go  out.  He  did  not  come  back.  I  waited,  and 
at  last  went  to  the  pass.  In  the  afternoon,  just 
as  I  was  rounding  the  corner  of  a  cliff,  there  was 
a  shot — then  another.  The  first  went  by  my 
head;  the  second  caught  me  along  the  ribs,  but 
not  to  great  hurt.  Still,  I  fell  from  the  shock, 
and  lost  some  blood.  It  was  Gawdor;  he 
thought  he  had  killed  me. 

"When  I  come  to  myself  I  bound  up  the  lit- 
tle furrow  in  the  flesh  and  start  away.  I  know 
that  Gawdor  would  follow  Gordineer.  I  follow 
him,  knowing  the  way  he  must  take.  I  have 
never  forget  the  next  night.  I  had  to  travel 
hard,  and  I  track  him  by  his  fires  and  other 
things.  When  sunset  come,  I  do  not  stop.  I 
was  in  a  valley  and  I  push  on.  There  was  a 
little  moon.  At  last  I  saw  a  light  ahead — a 
campfire,  I  know.  I  was  weak,  and  could  have 
dropped;  but  a  dread  was  on  me.  I  come  to  the 
fire.  I  saw  a  man  lying  near  it.  Just  as  I  saw 
him  he  was  trying  to  rise.  But,  as  he  did  so, 
something  sprang  out  of  the  shadow  upon  him, 
at  his  throat.  I  saw  him  raise  his  hand  and 
strike  it  with  a  knife.  The  thing  let  go,  and 


76  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

then  I  fire — but  only  scratched,  I  think.  It  was 
a  puma.  It  sprang  away  again,  into  the  dark- 
ness. I  ran  to  the  man  and  raised  him.  It  was 
my  friend.  He  looked  up  at  me  and  shake  his 
head.  He  was  torn  at  the  throat.  But  there  was 
something  else — a  wound  in  the  back.  He  was 
stooping  over  the  fire  when  he  was  stabbed,  and 
he  fell.  He  saw  that  it  was  Gawdor.  He  had 
been  left  for  dead,  as  I  was.  Dear  Lord,  just 
when  I  come  and  could  have  save  him,  the  puma 
come  also.  It  is  the  best  men  who  have  such 
luck.  I  have  seen  it  often.  I  used  to  wonder 
they  did  not  curse  God." 

He  crossed  himself  and  mumbled  some- 
thing. Lawless  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  once  or  twice,  pulling  at  his  beard 
and  frowning.  His  eyes  were  wet.  Shon  kept 
blowing  into  his  closed  hands  and  blinking  at 
the  fire.  Pourcette  got  up  and  took  down  the 
gun  frgm  the  chimney.  He  brushed  off  the 
dust  with  his  coat-sleeve,  and  fondled  it,  shaking 
his  head  at  it  a  little.  As  he  began  to  speak 
again,  Lawless  sat  down. 

"Now  I  know  why  they  do  not  curse. 
Something  curses  for  them.  Jo  gave  me  a  word 
for  her,  and  say:  'Well,  it  is  all  right;  but  I 
wish  I  had  killed  the  puma.'  There  was  noth- 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  77 

ing  more.  ...  I  followed  Gawdor  for 
days.  I  know  that  he  would  go  and  get  some 
one,  and  go  back  to  the  gold.  I  thought  at 
last  I  had  missed  him  ;  but  no.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  what  to  do  when  I  found  him. 
One  night,  just  as  the  moon  was  showing  over 
the  hills,  I  come  upon  him.  I  was  quiet  as  a 
puma.  I  have  a  stout  cord  in  my  pocket,  and 
another  about  my  body.  Just  as  he  was  stoop- 
ing over  the  fire,  as  Gordineer  did,  I  sprang 
upon  him,  clasping  him  about  the  neck,  and 
bringing  him  to  the  ground.  He  could  not 
get  me  off.  I  am  small,  but  I  have  a  grip. 
Then,  too,  I  had  one  hand  at  his  throat.  It 
was  no  use  to  struggle.  The  cord  and  a  knife 
were  in  my  teeth.  It  was  a  great  trick,  but 
his  breath  was  well  gone,  and  I  fastened  his 
hands.  It  was  no  use  to  struggle.  I  tied  his 
feet  and  legs.  Then  I  carried  him  to  a  tree 
and  bound  him  tight.  I  unfastened  his  hands 
again  and  tied  them  round  the  tree.  Then  I 
built  a  great  fire  not  far  away.  He  begged  at 
first  and  cried.  But  I  was  hard.  He  got  wild, 
and  at  last  when  I  leave  him  he  cursed  !  It 
was  like  nothing  I  ever  heard.  He  was  a 
devil.  ...  I  come  back  after  I  have  carry 
the  message  to  the  poor  girl — it  is  a  sad  thing 


78  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

to  see  the  first  great  grief  of  the  young  !  Gaw- 
dor  was  not  there.  The  pumas  and  others  had 
been  with  him. 

"  There  was  more  to  do.  I  wanted  to  kill 
that  puma  which  set  its  teeth  in  the  throat  of 
my  friend.  I  hunted  the  woods  where  it  had 
happened,  beating  everywhere,  thinking  that, 
perhaps,  it  was  dead.  There  was  not  much 
blood  on  the  leaves,  so  I  guessed  that  it  had 
not  died.  I  hunted  from  that  spot,  and  killed 
many — many.  I  saw  that  they  began  to  move 
north.  At  last  I  got  back  here.  From  here 
I  have  hunted  and  killed  them  slow;  but 
never  that  one  with  a  wound  in  the  shoulder 
from  Jo's  knife.  Still,  I  can  wait.  There  is 
nothing  like  patience  for  the  hunter  and  for 
the  man  who  would  have  blood  for  blood." 

He  paused,  and  Lawless  spoke  :  "  And  when 
you  have  killed  that  puma,  Pourcette,  if  you  ever 
do,  what  then  ?  " 

Pourcette  fondled  the  gun,  then  rose  and 
hung  it  up  again  before  he  replied. 

"Then  I  will  go  to  Fort  St.  John,  to  the  girl 
— she  is  there  with  her  father — and  sell  all  the 
skins  to  the  factor  and  give  her  the  money."  He 
waved  his  hand  round  the  room.  "  There  are 
many  skins  here,  but  I  have  more  cached  not 
far  away.  Once  a  year  I  go  to  the  Fort  for  flour 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  79 

and  bullets.  A  dog  team  and  a  bois-brull  bring 
them,  and  then  I  am  alone  as  before.  When  all 
that  is  done  I  will  come  back." 

"  And  then,  Pourcette  ?  "  said  Shon. 

"Then  I  will  hang  that  one  skin  over  the 
chimney  where  his  gun  is,  and  go  out  and  kill 
more  pumas.  What  else  can  I  do  ?  When  I 
stop  killing  I  shall  be  killed.  A  million  pumas 
and  their  skins  are  not  worth  the  life  of  my 
friend." 

Lawless  looked  round  the  room,  at  the 
wooden  cup,  the  gun,  the  bloodstained  clothes 
on  the  wall  and  the  skins.  He  got  up,  came 
over  and  touched  Pourcette  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Little  man,"  he  said,  "  give  it  up  and  come 
with  me.  Come  to  Fort  St.  John,  sell  the  skins, 
give  the  money  to  the  girl,  and  then  let  us 
travel  to  the  Barren  Grounds  together,  and  from 
there  to  the  south  country  again.  You  will  go 
mad  up  here.  You  have  killed  enough — Gawdor 
and  many  pumas.  If  Jo  could  speak,  he  would 
say,  Give  it  up!  I  knew  Jo.  He  was  my  good 
friend  before  he  was  yours — mine  and  McGann's 
here — and  we  searched  for  him  to  travel  with  us. 
He  would  have  done  so,  I  think,  for  we  had 
sport  and  trouble  of  one  kind  and  another  to- 
gether. And  he  would  have  asked  you  to  come 
also.  Well,  do  so,  little  man.  We  have  n't  told 


8o  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

you  our  names.  I  am  Sir  Duke  Lawless,  and  this 
is  Shon  M'Gann." 

Pourcette  nodded.  "  I  do  not  know  how  it 
come  to  me,  but  I  was  sure  from  the  first  you  are 
friends.  He  speak  often  of  you  and  of  two 
others — where  are  they  ?  " 

Lawless  replied,  and,  at  the  name  of  Pretty 
Pierre,  Shon  hid  his  forehead  in  his  hand  in  a 
troubled  way. 

"  And  you  will  come  with  us,"  said  Lawless, 
"away  from  this  loneliness  ?" 

"  It  is  not  lonely,"  was  the  reply.  "  To  hear 
the  thrum  of  the  pigeon,  the  whistle  of  the  hawk, 
the  chatter  of  the  black  squirrel,  and  the  long 
cry  of  the  eagles  is  not  lonely.  Then  there  is 
the  river  and  the  pines — all  music  ;  and  for 
what  the  eye  sees,  God  has  been  good  ;  and  to 
kill  pumas  is  my  joy.  .  .  .  So,  I  cannot  go. 
These  hills  are  mine.  Few  strangers  come,  and 
none  stop  but  me.  Still,  tomorrow  or  any  day, 
I  will  show  you  the  way  to  the  valley  where  the 
gold  is.  Perhaps  riches  is  there,  perhaps  not, 
you  shall  find." 

Lawless  saw  that  it  was  no  use  to  press  the 
matter.  The  old  man  had  but  one  idea,  and 
nothing  could  ever  change  it.  Solitude  fixes 
our  hearts  immovably  on  things — call  it  mad- 
ness, what  you  will.  In  busy  life  we  have  no 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  8 1 

real  or  lasting  dreams,  no  ideals.  We  have  to 
go  to  the  primeval  hills  and  the  wild  plains  for 
them.  When  we  leave  the  hills  and  the  plains 
we  lose  them  again.  Shon  was,  however,  for  the 
valley  of  gold.  He  was  a  poor  man,  and  it 
would  be  a  joyful  thing  for  him  if  one  day  he 
could  empty  ample  gold  into  his  wife's  lap. 
Lawless  was  not  greedy,  but  he  and  good  money 
were  not  at  variance. 

"See,"  said  Shon,  "the  valley's  the  thing. 
We  can  hunt  as  we  go,  and  if  there  's  gold  for 
the  scrapin',  why  there  y'  are — fill  up  and  come 
again.  If  not,  divil  the  harm  done.  So  here  's 
thumbs  up  to  go,  say  I.  But  I  wish,  Lawless,  I 
wish  that  I  'd  niver  known  how  Jo  wint  off,  an'  I 
wish  we  were  all  t'gither  agin,  as  down  in  the 
Pipi  Valley." 

"There  's  nothing  stands  in  this  world,  Shon, 
but  the  faith  of  comrades  and  the  truth  of  good 
women.  The  rest  hangs  by  a  hair.  I  '11  go  to 
the  valley  with  you.  It's  many  a  day  since  I 
washed  my  luck  in  a  gold-pan." 

"  I  will  take  you  there,"  said  Pourcette,  sud- 
denly rising  and,  with  shy  abrupt  motions, 
grasping  their  hands  and  immediately  letting 
them  go  again.  "I  will  take  you  tomorrow." 
Then  he  spread  skins  upon  the  floor,  put  wood 
upon  the  fire,  and  the  three  were  soon  asleep. 


82  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

The  next  morning,  just  as  the  sun  came 
laboriously  over  the  white  peak  of  a  mountain 
and  looked  down  into  the  great  gulch  beneath 
the  hut,  the  three  started.  For  many  hours  they 
crept  along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  then  came 
slowly  down  upon  pine-crested  hills,  and  over  to 
where  a  small  plain  stretched  out.  It  was  Pour- 
cette's  little  farm.  Its  position  was  such  that  it 
caught  the  sun  always,  and  was  protected  from 
the  north  and  east  winds.  Tall  shafts  of  Indian 
corn  with  the  yellow  tassels  were  still  standing, 
and  the  stubble  of  the  field  where  the  sickle  had 
been  showed  in  the  distance  like  a  carpet  of 
gold.  It  seemed  strange  to  Lawless  that  this 
old  man  beside  him  should  be  thus  peaceful  in 
his  habits,  the  most  primitive  and  arcadian  of 
farmers,  and  yet  one  whose  trade  was  blood — 
whose  one  purpose  in  life  was  destruction  and 
vengeance. 

They  pushed  on.  Towards  the  end  of  the  day 
they  came  upon  a  little  herd  of  caribou,  and  had 
excellent  sport.  Lawless  noticed  that  Pourcette 
seemed  scarcely  to  take  any  aim  at  all,  so  swift 
and  decisive  was  his  handling  of  the  gun.  They 
skinned  the  deer  and  cached  them,  and  took  up 
the  journey  again.  For  four  days  they  travelled 
and  hunted  alternately.  Pourcette  had  shot 
two  mountain  lions,  but  they  had  seen  no  pumas. 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  83 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  they  came 
upon  the  valley  where  the  gold  was.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it.  A  beautiful  little  stream 
ran  through  it,  and  its  bed  was  sprinkled  with 
gold — a  goodly  sight  to  a  poor  man  like  Shon, 
interesting  enough  to  Lawless.  For  days,  while 
Lawless  and  Pourcette  hunted,  Shon  labored 
like  a  galley-slave,  making  the  little  specks  into 
piles,  and  now  and  again  crowning  a  pile  with  a 
nugget.  The  fever  of  the  hunter  had  passed 
from  him  and  another  fever  was  on  him.  The 
others  urged  him  to  come  away.  The  winter 
would  soon  be  hard  on  them  ;  he  must  go,  and 
he  and  Lawless  would  return  in  the  spring. 

Prevailing  on  him  at  last,  they  started  back  to 
Clear  Mountain.  The  first  day  Shon  was  ab- 
stracted. He  carried  the  gold  he  had  gathered 
in  a  bag  wound  about  his  body.  It  was  heavy, 
and  he  could  not  travel  fast.  One  morning, 
Pourcette,  who  had  been  off  in  the  hills,  came 
to  say  that  he  had  sighted  a  little  herd  of 
wapiti.  Shon  had  fallen  and  sprained  his  arm 
the  evening  before  (gold  is  heavy  to  carry),  and 
he  did  not  go  with  the  others.  He  stayed  and 
dreamed  of  his  good  fortune,  and  of  his  home. 
In  the  late  afternoon  he  lay  down  in  the  sun 
beside  the  campfire,  and  fell  asleep  from  much 
thinking.  Lawless  and  Pourcette  had  little  sue- 


84  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

cess.  The  herd  had  gone  before  they  arrived. 
They  beat  the  hills,  and  turned  back  to  camp  at 
last,  without  fret,  like  good  sportsmen.  At  a 
point  they  separated,  to  come  down  upon  the 
camp  at  different  angles,  in  the  hope  of  still 
getting  a  shot.  The  camp  lay  exposed  upon  a 
platform  of  the  mountain. 

Lawless  came  out  upon  a  ledge  of  rock  op- 
posite the  camp,  a  gulch  lying  between.  He 
looked  across.  He  was  in  the  shadow,  the  other 
wall  of  the  gulch  was  in  the  sun.  The  air  was 
incomparably  clear  and  fresh,  with  an  autumnal 
freshness.  Everything  stood  out  distinct  and 
sharply  outlined,  nothing  flat  or  blurred.  He 
saw  the  camp,  and  the  fire,  with  the  smoke 
quivering  up  in  a  diffusing  blue  column,  Shon 
lying  beside  it.  He  leaned  upon  his  rifle  mus- 
ingly. The  shadows  of  the  pines  were  blue  and 
cold,  but  the  tops  of  them  were  burnished  with 
the  cordial  sun,  and  a  glacier-field,  somehow, 
took  on  a  rose  and  violet  light  reflected,  maybe, 
from  the  soft-complexioned  sky.  He  drew  in  a 
long  breath  of  delight,  and  widened  his  line 
of  vision. 

Suddenly,  something  he  saw  made  him  lurch 
backward.  At  an  angle  in  almost  equal  distance 
from  him  and  Shon,  upon  a  small  peninsula  of 
rock,  a  strange  thing  was  happening.  Old 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  85 

Pourcette  was  kneeling,  engaged  with  his  mocca- 
sin. Behind  him  was  the  sun,  against  which  he 
was  abruptly  defined,  and  looked  larger  than  usual. 
Clear  space  and  air  soft  with  color  were  about 
him.  Across  this  space,  on  a  little  sloping  pla- 
teau near  him,  there  crept  an  animal.  It 
seemed  to  Lawless  that  he  could  see  the  lithe 
stealthiness  of  its  muscles  and  the  ripple  of  its 
skin.  But  that  was  imagination,  because  he  was 
too  far  away.  He  cried  out  and  swung  his  gun 
shoulderwards  in  desperation.  But,  at  the  mo- 
ment, Pourcette  turned  sharply  round,  saw  his 
danger,  caught  his  gun,  and  fired  as  the  puma 
sprang.  There  had  been  no  chance  for  aim, 
and  the  beast  was  only  wounded.  It  dropped 
upon  the  man.  He  let  the  gun  fall ;  it  rolled 
and  fell  over  the  cliff.  Then  came  a  scene, 
wicked  in  its  peril  to  Pourcette,  for  whom  no 
aid  could  come,  though  two  men  stood  watching 
the  great  fight — Shon  M'Gann,  awake  now,  and 
Lawless — with  their  guns  silent  in  their  hands. 
They  dare  not  fire  for  fear  of  injuring  the  man, 
and  they  could  not  reach  him  in  time  to  be  of 
help. 

There  against  the  weird,  solitary  sky  the  man 
and  the  puma  fought.  When  the  animal  dropped 
on  him,  Pourcette  caught  it  by  the  throat  with 
both  hands  and  held  back  its  fangs;  but  its 


86  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

claws  were  furrowing  the  flesh  of  his  breast  and 
legs.  His  long  arms  were  of  immense  strength, 
and  though  the  pain  of  his  torn  flesh  was  great, 
he  struggled  grandly  with  the  beast,  and  bore  it 
away  from  his  body.  As  he  did  so  he  slightly 
changed  the  position  of  one  hand.  It  came 
upon  a  welt  —  a  scar.  When  he  felt  that,  new 
courage  and  strength  seemed  given  him.  He 
gave  a  low  growl  like  an  animal,  and  then,  let- 
ting go  one  hand,  caught  at  the  knife  in  his  belt. 
As  he  did  so  the  puma  sprang  away  from  him, 
and  crouched  upon  the  rock,  making  ready  for 
another  leap.  Lawless  and  Shon  could  see  its 
tail  curving  and  beating.  But  now,  to  their  as- 
tonishment, the  man  was  the  aggressor.  He  was 
filled  with  a  fury  which  knows  nothing  of  fear. 
The  welt  his  fingers  had  felt  burned  them. 

He  came  slowly  upon  the  puma.  Lawless 
could  see  the  hard  glitter  of  his  knife.  The 
puma's  teeth  sawed  together,  its  claws  picked  at 
the  rocks,  its  body  curved  for  a  spring.  The 
man  sprang  first,  and  ran  the  knife  in ;  but  not 
into  a  mortal  corner.  Once  more  they  locked. 
The  man's  fingers  were  again  at  the  puma's 
throat,  and  they  swayed  together,  the  claws  of 
the  beast  making  surface  havoc.  But  now  as 
they  stood  up,  to  the  eyes  of  the  fearful  watchers 
inextricably  mixed,  the  man  lunged  again  with 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  87 

his  knife,  and  this  time  straight  into  the  heart  of 
the  murderer.  The  puma  loosened,  quivered, 
fell  back  dead.  The  man  rose  to  his  feet  with  a 
cry,  and  his  hands  stretched  above  his  head,  as  it 
were  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy.  Shon  forgot  his  gold 
and  ran ;  Lawless  hurried  also. 

When  the  two  men  got  to  the  spot  they  found 
Pourcette  binding  up  his  wounds.  He  came  to 
his  feet,  heedless  of  his  hurts,  and  grasped  their 
hands.  " Come,  come,  my  friends,  and  see!"  he 
cried. 

He  pulled  forward  the  loose  skin  on  the 
puma's  breast  and  showed  them  the  scar  of  a 
knife-wound  above  the  one  his  own  knife  had 
made. 

"I've  got  the  other  murderer,"  he  said; 
"Gordineer's  knife  went  in  here.  God,  but  it  is 
good!" 

Pourcette's  flesh  needed  little  medicine ;  he 
did  not  feel  his  pain  and  stiffness.  When  they 
reached  Clear  Mountain,  bringing  with  them  the 
skin  which  was  to  hang  above  the  fireplace, 
Pourcette  prepared  to  go  to  Fort  St.  John,  as  he 
had  said  he  would,  to  sell  all  the  skins  and  give 
the  proceeds  to  the  girl. 

"When  that's  done,"  said  Lawless,  "you  will 
have  no  reason  for  staying  here.  If  you  will 
come  with  us  after,  we  will  go  to  the  Fort  with 


88  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

you.  We  three  will  then  come  back  in  the 
spring  to  the  valley  of  gold  for  sport  and 
riches." 

He  spoke  lightly,  yet  seriously  too.  The  old 
man  shook  his  head.  "I  have  thought,"  he  said. 
"I  cannot  go  to  the  south.  I  am  a  hunter  now, 
nothing  more.  I  have  been  long  alone;  I  do 
not  wish  for  change.  I  shall  stay  at  Clear 
Mountain  when  these  skins  have  go  to  Fort 
St.  John,  and  if  you  come  to  me  in  the  spring  or 
at  any  time,  my  door  will  open  to  you,  and  I 
will  share  all  with  you.  Gordineer  was  a  good 
man.  You  are  good  men.  I'll  remember  you, 
but  I  can't  go  with  you.  No!  Some  day  you 
would  leave  me  to  go  to  the  women  who  wait  for 
you,  and  then  I  should  be  alone  again.  I  will 
not  change — vraiment!" 

On  the  morning  they  left  he  took  Jo  Gor- 
dineer's  cup  from  the  shelf,  and  from  a  hidden 
place  brought  out  a  flask  half-filled  with  liquor. 
He  poured  out  a  little  in  the  cup  gravely,  and 
handed  it  to  Lawless,  but  Lawless  gave  it  back 
to  him. 

"You  must  drink  from  it,"  he  said,  "not  me." 

He  held  out  the  cup  of  his  own  flask.  When 
each  of  the  three  had  a  share,  the  old  man 
raised  his  long  arm  solemnly,  and  said  in  a  tone 
so  gentle  that  the  others  hardly  recognized  his 


The  Spoil  of  the  Puma  89 

voice:  "To  a  lost  comrade!"  They  drank  in 
silence. 

"A  little  gentleman!"  said  Lawless,  under 
his  breath. 

When  they  were  ready  to  start,  Lawless  said 
to  him  at  the  last:  "What  will  you  do  here, 
comrade,  as  the  days  go  on?" 

"There  are  pumas  in  the  mountains!"  he 
replied. 

They  parted  from  him  upon  the  ledge  where 
the  great  fight  had  occurred,  and  travelled  into 
the  east.  Turning  many  times,  they  saw  him 
still  standing  there.  At  a  point  where  they  must 
lose  sight  of  him,  they  looked  for  the  last  time. 
He  was  alone  with  his  solitary  hills,  leaning  on 
his  rifle.  They  fired  two  shots  into  the  air. 
They  saw  him  raise  his  rifle,  and  two  faint  re- 
ports came  in  reply.  He  became  again  immov- 
able, as  much  a  part  of  those  hills  as  the  shining 
glacier;  never  to  leave  them. 

In  silence  the  two  rounded  the  cliff,  and  saw 
him  no  more. 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Jacques  Parfaite,  as  he 
gave  Whiskey  Wine,  the  leading  dog,  a  cut  with 
the  whip  and  twisted  his  patois  to  the  uses  of 
narrative,  "he  has  been  alone  there  at  the  old 
Fort  for  a  long  time.  I  remember  when  I  first 
saw  him.  It  was  in  the  summer.  The  world 
smell  sweet  if  you  looked  this  way  or  that.  If 
you  drew  in  your  breath  quick  from  the  top  of  a 
hill  you  felt  a  great  man.  Ridley,  the  chief 
trader,  and  myself  had  come  to  the  Fort  on  our 
way  to  the  Mackenzie  River.  In  the  yard  of  the 
Fort  the  grass  had  grow  tall,  and  sprung  in 
the  cracks  under  the  doors  and  windows;  the 
Fort  had  not  been  use  for  a  long  time.  Once 
there  was  plenty  of  buffalo  near,  and  the  caribou 
sometimes;  but  they  were  all  gone  —  only  a  few. 
The  Indians  never  went  that  way,  only  when  the 
seasons  were  the  best.  The  Company  had  closed 
the  Post;  it  did  not  pay.  Still,  it  was  pleasant 
after  a  long  tramp  to  come  to  a  fort,  even  empty. 
We  know  dam'  well  there  is  food  buried  in  the 
yard  or  under  the  floor,  and  it  would  be  droll 
90 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs  91 

to  open  the  place  for  a  day  —  Lost  Man's 
Tavern,  we  call  it.  Well  — " 

"Well,  what?"  said  Sir  Duke  Lawless,  who 
had  travelled  up  to  the  Barren  Grounds  for  the 
sake  of  adventure  and  game  ;  and,  with  his  old 
friend,  Shon  M'Gann,  had  trusted  himself  to  the 
excellent  care  of  Jacques  Parfaite,  the  half-breed. 

Jacques  cocked  his  head  on  one  side  and 
shook  it  wisely  and  mysteriously.  "  Tres  bien, 
we  trailed  through  the  long  grass,  pried  open 
the  shutters  and  door,  and  went  in.  It  is  cool 
in  the  north  of  an  evening,  as  you  know.  We 
build  a  fire,  and  soon  there  is  very  fine  times. 
Ridley  pried  up  the  floor,  and  we  found  good 
things.  Holy !  but  it  was  a  feast.  We  had  a 
little  rum  also.  As  we  talk  and  a  great  laugh 
swim  round,  there  come  a  noise  behind  us  like 
shuffling  feet.  We  got  to  our  legs  quick.  Mon 
jDieu,  a  strange  sight !  A  man  stand  looking  at 
us  with  something  in  his  face  that  make  my 
fingers  cold  all  at  once — a  look — well,  you 
would  think  it  was  carved  in  stone — it  never 
changed.  Once  I  was  at  Fort  Garry ;  the  Church 
of  Ste.  Mary  is  there.  They  have  a  picture  in  it 
of  the  great  scoundrel  Judas  as  he  went  to  hang 
himself.  Judas  was  a  fool — what  was  thirty  dol- 
lars ! — you  give  me  hunder'  to  take  you  to  the 
Barren  Grounds.  Pah  1 ' 


92  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

The  half-breed  chuckled,  shook  his  head 
sagely,  swore  half-way  through  his  vocabulary  at 
Whiskey  Wine,  gratefully  received  a  pipe  of  to- 
bacco from  Shon  M'Gann,  and  continued :  "  He 
come  in  on  us  slow  and  still,  and  push  out  his 
long  thin  hands,  the  fingers  bent  like  claws, 
towards  the  pot.  He  was  starving.  Yes,  it  was 
so  ;  but  I  nearly  laughed.  It  was  spring — a 
man  is  a  fool  to  starve  in  the  spring.  But  he 
was  differen'.  There  was  a  cause.  The  factor 
give  him  soup  from  the  pot  and  a  little  rum. 
He  was  mad  for  meat,  but  that  would  have  killed 
him.  He  did  not  look  at  you  like  a  man.  When 
you  are  starving  you  are  an  animal.  But  there 
was  something  more  with  this.  He  made  the 
flesh  creep,  he  was  so  thin,  and  strange,  and 
sulky — eh,  is  that  a  word  when  the  face  looks 
dark  and  never  smiles?  So!  He  would  not  talk. 
When  we  ask  him  where  he  come  from  he  points 
to  the  north ;  when  we  ask  him  where  he  is  go- 
ing, he  shake  his  head  as  he  not  know.  A  man 
is  mad  not  to  know  where  he  travel  to  up  here ; 
something  comes  quick  to  him  unless,  and  it  is 
not  good  to  die  too  soon.  The  trader  said, 
'Come  with  us.'  He  shake  his  head,  No.  '  P'r'aps 
you  want  to  stay  here,'  say  Ridley  loud,  show- 
ing his  teeth  all  in  a  minute.  He  nod.  Then 
the  trader  laugh  thick  in  his  throat  and  give  him 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs  93 

more  soup.  After,  he  try  to  make  the  man  talk, 
but  he  was  stubborn  like  that  dirty  Whiskey 
Wine — ah,  sacre  bleu!" 

Whiskey  Wine  had  his  usual  portion  of  whip 
and  anathema  before  Jacques  again  took  up  the 
thread.  "It  was  no  use.  He  would  not  talk. 
When  the  trader  got  angry  once  more,  he  turned 
to  me,  and  the  look  in  his  face  make  me  sorry. 
I  swore — Ridley  did  not  mind  that,  I  was  thick 
friends  with  him.  I  say,  'Keep  still.  It  is  no 
good.  He  has  had  bad  times.  He  has  been  lost, 
and  seen  mad  things.  He  will  never  be  again 
like  when  God  make  him.'  Very  well,  I  spoke 
true.  He  was  like  a  sun  dog." 

"What  'sthat  ye  say,  Parfaite  ?  "  said  Shon — 
"  a  sun  dog?" 

Sir  Duke  Lawless,  puzzled,  listened  eagerly 
for  the  reply. 

The  half-breed  in  delight  ran  before  them, 
cracking  his  whip  and  jingling  the  bells  at  his 
knees.  "  Ah,  that's  it.  It  is  a  name  we  have  for 
some.  You  do  not  know  ?  It  is  easy.  In  the 
high-up  country" — pointing  north — "you  see 
sometimes  many  suns.  But  it  is  not  many  after 
all  ;  it  is  only  one  ;  and  the  rest  are  the  same  as 
your  face  in  looking-glasses  —  one,  two,  three, 
plenty.  You  see  ?" 


94  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"  Yes,"  said  Sir  Duke,  "  reflections  of  the 
real  sun." 

Parfaite  tapped  him  on  the  arm.  "  So  :  you 
{iave  the  thing.  Well,  this  man  is  not  himself — 
he  have  left  himself  where  he  seen  his  bad  times. 
It  makes  your  flesh  creep  sometimes  when  you 
see  the  sun  dogs  in  the  sky — this  man  did  the 
same.  You  shall  see  him  tonight ! " 

Sir  Duke  looked  at  the  little  half-breed,  and 
wondered  that  the  product  of  so  crude  a  civiliza- 
tion should  be  so  little  crude  in  his  imagination. 
"  What  happened  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  happened.  But  the  man  could  not 
sleep.  He  sit  before  the  fire,  his  eyes  moving 
here  and  there,  and  sometimes  he  shiver.  Well, 
I  watch  him.  In  the  morning  we  leave  him 
there,  and  he  has  been  there  ever  since  —  the 
only  man  at  the  Fort.  The  Indians  do  not  go; 
they  fear  him ;  but  there  is  no  harm  in  him.  He 
is  old  now.  In  an  hour  we  '11  be  there." 

The  sun  was  hanging  with  one  shoulder  up 
like  a  great,  red,  peering  dwarf,  on  the  far  side  of 
a  long  hillock  of  stunted  pines,  when  the  three 
arrived  at  the  Fort.  The  yard  was  still  as  Par- 
faite had  described  it  —  full  of  rank  grass, 
through  which  one  path  trailed  to  the  open  door. 
On  the  stockade  walls  grass  grew,  as  though 
where  men  will  not  live  like  men  Nature  labors 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs  pc 

to  smother.  The  shutters  of  the  window  were 
not  open  ;  light  only  entered  through  narrow 
openings  in  them,  made  for  the  needs  of  possible 
attacks  by  Indians  in  the  far  past.  One  would 
have  sworn  that  any  one  dwelling  there  was  more 
like  the  dead  than  living.  Yet  it  had,  too,  some- 
thing of  the  peace  of  the  lonely  graveyard.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  Fort ;  but  there  were  signs  of  life 
— skins  piled  here  and  there,  a  few  utensils,  a 
bench;  a  hammock  for  food  swung  from  the 
rafters,  a  low  fire  burning  in  the  chimney,  and  a 
rude  spear  stretched  on  the  wall. 

"  Sure,  the  place  gives  you  shivers ! "  said 
Shon.  "  Open  go  these  windows.  Put  wood 
on  the  fire,  Parfaite ;  cook  the  meat  that  we  Ve 
brought,  and  no  other,  me  boy  ;  and  whin  we  're 
filled  wid  a  meal  and  the  love  o'  God,  bring  in 
your  Lost  Man,  or  Sun  Dog,  or  whativer  's  he  by 
name  or  nature." 

While  Parfaite  and  Shon  busied  themselves, 
Lawless  wandered  out  with  his  gun,  and,  drawn 
on  by  the  clear  joyous  air  of  the  evening,  walked 
along  a  path  made  by  the  same  feet  that  had 
travelled  the  yard  of  the  Fort.  He  followed  it 
almost  unconsciously  at  first,  thinking  of  the 
strange  histories  that  the  far  north  hoards  in  its 
fastnesses,  wondering  what  singular  fate  had 
driven  the  host  of  this  secluded  tavern  —  farthest 


96  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

from  the  pleasant  south  country,  nearest  to  the 
Pole — to  stand,  as  it  were,  a  sentinel  at  the  raw 
outposts  of  the  world.  He  looked  down  at  the 
trail  where  he  was  walking  with  a  kind  of  awe, 
which  even  his  cheerful  common  sense  could  not 
dismiss. 

He  came  to  the  top  of  a  ridge  on  which  were 
a  handful  of  meagre  trees.  Leaning  on  his  gun, 
he  looked  straight  away  into  the  farthest  dis- 
tance. On  the  left  was  a  blurred  edge  of  pines, 
with  tops  like  ungainly  tendrils  feeling  for  the 
sky.  On  the  right  was  a  long,  bare  stretch  of  hills 
veiled  in  the  thin  smoke  of  the  evening,  and  be- 
tween, straight  before  him,  was  a  wide  lane  of 
country,  billowing  away  to  where  it  froze  into 
the  vast  archipelago  that  closes  with  the  summit 
of  the  world.  He  experienced  now  that  weird 
charm  which  has  drawn  so  many  into  Arctic 
wilds  and  gathered  the  eyes  of  millions  long- 
ingly. Wife,  child,  London,  civilization,  were 
forgotten  for  the  moment.  He  was  under  a  spell 
which,  once  felt,  lingers  in  your  veins  always. 

At  length  his  look  drew  away  from  the  glim- 
mering distance,  and  he  suddenly  became  con- 
scious of  human  presence.  Here  at  his  feet 
almost  was  a  man,  also  looking  out  along  that 
slumbering  waste.  He  was  dressed  in  skins,  his 
arms  were  folded  across  his  breast,  his  chin  bent 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs  97 

low,  and  he  gazed  up  and  out  from  deep  eyes  shad- 
owed by  strong  brows.  Lawless  saw  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  watcher  heave  and  shake  once  or 
twice,  and  then  a  voice  with  a  deep  aching 
trouble  in  it  spoke ;  but  at  first  he  could  catch 
no  words.  Presently,  however,  he  heard  dis- 
tinctly, for  the  man  raised  his  hands  high  above  his 
head,  and  the  words  fell  painfully  :  "  Am  I  my 
brother's  keeper  ?  " 

Then  a  low  harsh  laugh  came  from  him,  and 
he  was  silent  again.  Lawless  did  not  move.  At 
last  the  man  turned  round,  and,  seeing  him 
standing  motionless,  his  gun  in  his  hands,  he 
gave  a  hoarse  cry.  Then  he  stood  still.  "If 
you  have  come  to  kill,  do  not  wait,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  ready." 

At  the  sound  of  Lawless's  reassuring  voice 
he  recovered,  and  began,  in  stumbling  words, 
to  excuse  himself.  His  face  was  as  Jacques 
Parfaite  had  described  it ;  trouble  of  some  ter- 
rible kind  was  furrowed  in  it,  and,  though  his 
body  was  stalwart,  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
lived  a  century.  His  eyes  dwelt  on  Sir  Duke 
Lawless  for  a  moment,  and  then,  coming  nearer, 
he  said,  "You  are  an  Englishman?" 

Lawless  held  out  his  hand  in  greeting,  yet 
he  was  not  sorry  when  the  other  replied  :  "The 
hand  of  no  man  in  greeting.  Are  you  alone?" 


98  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

When  he  had  been  told,  he  turned  toward 
the  Fort,  and  silently  they  made  their  way  to 
it.  At  the  door  he  turned  and  said  to  Lawless, 
"My  name — to  you  —  is  Detmold." 

The  greeting  between  Jacques  and  his  som- 
bre host  was  notable  for  its  extreme  brevity; 
with  Shon  M'Gann  for  its  hesitation  —  Shon's 
impressionable  Irish  nature  was  awed  by  the 
look  of  the  man,  though  he  had  seen  some 
strange  things  in  the  north.  Darkness  was  on 
them  by  this  time  ;  and  the  host  lighted  bowls 
of  fat  with  wicks  of  deer's  tendons,  and  by  the 
light  of  these  and  the  fire  they  ate  their  supper. 
Parfaite  beguiled  the  evening  with  tales  of  the 
north,  always  interesting  to  Lawless,  to  which 
Shon  added  many  a  shrewd  word  of  humor — 
for  he  had  recovered  quickly  from  his  first  tim- 
idity in  the  presence  of  the  stranger. 

As  time  went  on  Jacques  saw  that  their  host's 
eyes  were  frequently  fixed  on  Sir  Duke  in  a  half- 
eager,  musing  way,  and  he  got  Shon  away  to 
bed  and  left  the  two  together. 

"  You  are  a  singular  man.  Why  do  you  live 
here?"  said  Lawless.  Then  he  went  straight  to 
the  heart  of  the  thing.  "  What  trouble  have 
you  had,  or  of  what  crime  are  you  guilty?" 

The    man    rose    to   his   feet,    shaking,   and 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs  99 

walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room  for  a  time,  more 
than  once  trying  to  speak,  but  failing.  He 
beckoned  to  Lawless,  and  opened  the  door. 
Lawless  took  his  hat  and  followed  him  along 
the  trail  they  had  travelled  before  supper  until 
they  had  come  to  the  ridge  where  they  had  met. 
The  man  faced  the  north,  the  moon  glistening 
coldly  on  his  gray  hair.  He  spoke  with  incred- 
ible weight  and  slowness  : 

•'  I  tell  you,  for  you  are  one  who  understands 
men,  and  you  come  from  a  life  that  I  once 
knew  well.  I  know  of  your  people.  I  was  of 
good  family — " 

"  I  know  the  name,"  said  Sir  Duke,  quietly, 
at  the  same  time  fumbling  in  his  memory  for 
flying  bits  of  gossip  and  history  which  he  could 
not  instantly  find. 

"  There  were  two  brothers  of  us.  I  was  the 
younger.  A  ship  was  going  to  the  Arctic  Sea." 
He  pointed  into  the  north.  "  We  were  both 
young  and  ambitious.  He  was  in  the  army, 
I  the  navy.  We  went  with  the  expedition.  At 
first  it  was  all  beautiful  and  grand,  and  it 
seemed  noble  to  search  for  those  others  who 
had  gone  into  that  land  and  never  come  back. 
But  our  ship  got  locked  in  the  ice,  and  then 
came  great  trouble.  A  year  went  by  and  we  did 
not  get  free ;  then  another  year  began.  .  .  . 


loo          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

Four  of  us  set  out  for  the  south.     Two  died. 
My  brother  and  I  were  left  — 

Lawless  exclaimed.  He  now  remembered 
how  general  sympathy  went  out  to  a  well-known 
county  family  when  it  was  announced  that  two 
of  its  members  were  lost  in  the  Arctic  regions. 

Detmold  continued  :  "  I  was  the  stronger. 
He  grew  weaker  and  weaker.  It  was  awful  to 
live  those  days  ;  the  endless  snow  and  cold,  the 
long  nights  when  you  could  only  hear  the  whir- 
ring of  meteors,  the  bright  sun  which  did  not 
warm  you,  not  even  when  many  suns,  the  reflec- 
tions of  itself,  followed  it — the  mocking  sun 
dogs,  no  more  the  sun  than  I  am  what  my 
mother  brought  into  the  world.  .  .  .  We 
walked  like  dumb  men,  for  the  dreadful  cold 
fills  the  heart  with  bitterness.  I  think  I  grew  to 
hate  him  because  he  could  not  travel  faster,  that 
days  were  lost,  and  death  crept  on  so  pitilessly. 
Sometimes  I  had  a  mad  wish  to  kill  him.  May 
you  never  know  suffering  that  begets  such 
things  !  I  laughed  as  I  sat  beside  him,  and  saw 
him  sink  to  sleep  and  die.  ...  I  think  I 
could  have  saved  him.  When  he  was  gone  I — 
what  do  men  do  sometimes  when  starvation  is 
on  them,  and  they  have  a  hunger  of  hell  to  live? 
I  did  that  shameless  thing — and  he  was  my 
brother!  ...  I  lived  and  was  saved." 


The  Trail  of  the  Sun  Dogs  101 

Lawless  shrank  away  from  the  man,  but  words 
of  horror  got  no  farther  than  his  throat.  And 
he  was  glad  afterwards  that  it  was  so  ;  for  when 
he  looked  again  at  this  woeful  relic  of  humanity 
before  him  he  felt  a  strange  pity. 

•'  God's  hand  is  on  me  to  punish,"  said  the 
man.  "  It  will  never  be  lifted.  Death  were  easy;  I 
bear  the  infamy  of  living." 

Lawless  reached  out  and  caught  him  gently 
by  the  shoulder.  "Poor  fellow!  poor  Detmold!" 
he  said. 

For  an  instant  the  sorrowful  face  lighted,  the 
square  chin  trembled,  and  the  hands  thrust  out 
towards  Lawless,  but  suddenly  dropped. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  humbly,  "  and  leave  me  here. 
We  must  not  meet  again.  .  .  I  have  had  one 
moment  of  respite.  .  .  Go!" 

Without  a  word,  Lawless  turned  and  made 
his  way  to  the  Fort.  In  the  morning  the  three 
comrades  started  on  their  journey  again  ;  but 
no  one  sped  them  on  their  way,  or  watched  them 
as  they  went. 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour 

He  lived  in  a  hut  on  a  jutting  crag  of  the 
Cliff  of  the  King.  You  could  get  to  it  by  a  hard 
climb  up  a  precipitous  pathway,  or  by  a  ladder 
of  ropes  which  swung  from  his  cottage  door 
down  the  cliff-side  to  the  sands.  The  bay  that 
washed  the  sands  was  called  Belle  Amour.  The 
cliff  was  huge,  sombre;  it  had  a  terrible  granite 
moroseness.  If  you  travelled  back  from  its  edge 
until  you  stood  within  the  very  heart  of  Labrador, 
you  would  add  step  upon  step  of  barrenness  and 
austerity. 

Only  at  seasons  did  the  bay  share  the  gloom 
of  the  cliff.  When  out  of  its  shadow  it  was,  in 
summer,  very  bright  and  playful,  sometimes 
boisterous,  often  idle,  coquetting  with  the  sands. 
There  was  a  great  difference  between  the  cliff  and 
the  bay ;  the  cliff  was  only  as  it  appeared,  but 
the  bay  was  a  shameless  hypocrite.  For  under 
one  shoulder  it  hid  a  range  of  reefs,  and,  at  a 
spot  where  the  shadows  of  the  cliff  never  reached 
it,  and  the  sun  played  with  a  grim  kind  of  joy, 
a  long  needle  of  rock  ran  up  at  an  angle  under 
102 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  103 

the  water,  waiting  to  pierce  irresistibly  the  ad- 
venturous ship  that,  in  some  mad  moment, 
should  creep  to  its  shores. 

The  man  was  more  like  the  cliff  than  the  bay; 
stern,  powerful,  brooding.  His  only  companions 
were  the  Indians,  who  in  summertime  came  and 
went,  getting  stores  of  him,  which  he  in  turn  got 
from  a  post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  sev- 
enty miles  up  the  coast.  At  one  time  the  Com- 
pany, impressed  by  the  number  of  skins  brought 
to  them  by  the  pilot,  and  the  stores  he  bought 
of  them,  had  thought  of  establishing  a  post  at 
Belle  Amour;  but  they  saw  that  his  dealings 
with  them  were  fair  and  that  he  had  small  gain, 
and  they  decided  to  use  him  as  an  unofficial 
agent,  and  reap  what  profit  was  to  be  had  as  thing? 
stood.  Kenyon,  the  Company's  agent,  who  had 
the  Post,  was  keen  to  know  why  Gaspard  the 
pilot  lived  at  Belle  Amour.  No  white  man  so- 
journed near  him,  and  he  saw  no  one  save  now 
and  then  a  priest  who  travelled  silently  among 
the  Indians,  or  some  fisherman,  hunter,  or 
woodsman,  who,  for  pleasure  or  from  pure  adven- 
ture, ran  into  the  bay  and  tasted  the  hospitality 
tucked  away  on  the  ledge  of  the  Cliff  of  the 
King. 

To  Kenyon  Gaspard  was  unresponsive,  how- 
ever adroit  the  catechism.  Father  Dorval  also, 


IO4          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

who  sometimes  stepped  across  the  dark  threshold 
of  Gaspard's  hut,  would  have,  for  the  man's  soul's 
sake,  dug  out  the  heart  of  his  secret;  but  Gas- 
pard,  open  with  food,  fire,  blanket,  and  tireless 
attendance,  closed  like  the  doors  of  a  dungeon 
when  the  priest  would  have  read  him.  At  the 
name  of  good  Ste.  Anne  he  would  make  the 
sacred  gesture,  and  would  take  a  blessing  when 
the  priest  passed  from  his  hut  to  go  again  into 
the  wilds;  but  when  pressed  to  disclose  his  mind 
and  history,  he  would  always  say :  "  M'sieu',  I 
have  nothing  to  confess."  After  a  number  of 
years  the  priest  ceased  to  ask  him,  and  he  re- 
mained with  the  secret  of  his  life,  inscrutable  and 
silent. 

Being  vigilant,  one  would  have  seen  how- 
ever that  he  lived  in  some  land  of  memory  or 
anticipation,  beyond  his  life  of  daily  toil  and 
usual  dealing.  The  hut  seemed  to  have  been 
built  at  a  point  where  east  and  west  and  south 
the  great  gulf  could  be  seen  and  watched.  It 
seemed  almost  ludicrous  that  a  man  should  call 
himself  a  pilot  on  a  coast  and  at  a  bay  where  a 
pilot  was  scarce  needed  once  a  year.  But  he  was 
known  as  Gaspard  the  pilot,  and  on  those  rare 
occasions  when  a  vessel  did  anchor  in  the  bay, 
he  performed  his  duties  with  such  a  certainty  as 
to  leave  unguessed  how  many  death-traps 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  105 

crouched  near  that  shore.  At  such  times,  how- 
ever, Gaspard  seemed  to  look  twenty  years 
younger — a  light  would  come  into  his  face,  a 
stalwart  kind  of  pride  sit  on  him,  though 
there  lurked  a  strange,  sardonic  look  in  his 
deep  eyes — such  a  grim  furtiveness  as  though 
he  should  say,  "  If  I  but  twist  my  finger  we  are 
all  for  the  fishes."  But  he  kept  his  secret  and 
waited.  He  never  seemed  to  tire  of  looking 
down  the  gulf,  as  though  expecting  some  ship. 
If  one  appeared  and  passed  on,  he  merely 
nodded  his  head,  hung  up  his  glass,  returned  to 
his  work,  or,  sitting  by  the  door,  talked  to  him- 
self in  low,  strange  tones.  If  one  came  near, 
making  as  if  it  would  enter  the  bay,  a  hungry 
joy  possessed  him.  If  a  storm  was  on  the  joy 
was  the  greater.  No  pilot  ever  ventured  to  a  ship 
on  such  rough  seas  as  Gaspard  ventured  for 
small  profit  or  glory. 

Behind  it  all  lay  his  secret.  There  came  one 
day  a  man  who  discovered  it. 

It  was  Pierre,  the  half-breed  adventurer. 
There  was  no  point  in  all  the  wild  northland 
which  Pierre  had  not  touched.  He  loved  it  as 
he  loved  the  game  of  life.  He  never  said  so  of 
it,  but  he  never  said  so  of  the  game  of  life,  and 
he  played  it  with  a  deep  subterranean  joy.  He 
had  had  his  way  with  the  musk-ox  in  the  Arctic 


106          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

circle;  with  the  white  bear  at  the  foot  of 
Alaskan  hills;  with  the  seal  in  Baffin's  Bay; 
with  the  puma  on  the  slope  of  the  Pacific;  and 
now  at  last  he  had  come  upon  the  trail  of  Lab- 
rador. Its  sternness,  its  moodiness  pleased  him. 
He  smiled  at  it  the  comprehending  smile  of  the 
man  who  has  fingered  the  nerves  and  the  heart 
of  men  and  things.  As  a  traveller,  wandering 
through  a  prison,  looks  upon  its  grim  cells  and 
dungeons  with  the  eye  of  unembarrassed  free- 
dom, finding  no  direful  significance  in  the  clank 
of  its  iron,  so  Pierre  travelled  down  with  a  hand- 
ful of  Indians  through  the  hard  fastnesses  of  that 
country,  and,  at  last,  alone,  came  upon  the  Bay 
of  Belle  Amour. 

There  was  in  him  some  antique  touch  of  re- 
finement and  temperament  which,  in  all  his  evil 
days  and  deeds  and  moments  of  shy  nobility, 
could  find  its  way  into  the  souls  of  men  with 
whom  the  world  had  had  an  awkward  hour.  He 
was  a  man  of  little  speech,  but  he  had  that  rare 
persuasive  penetration  which  unlocked  the  doors 
of  trouble,  despair  and  tragedy.  Men  who  could 
never  have  confessed  to  a  priest  confessed  to 
him.  In  his  every  fibre  was  the  granite  of  the 
Indian  nature  which  looked  upon  punishment 
with  stoic  satisfaction. 

In  the  heart  of  Labrador  he  had  heard  of 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  107 

Gaspard,  and  had  travelled  to  that  point  in  the 
compass  where  he  could  find  him.  One  day 
when  the  sun  was  fighting  hard  to  make  a  path- 
way of  light  in  front  of  Gaspard's  hut,  Pierre 
rounded  a  corner  of  the  cliff  and  fronted  Gas- 
pard as  he  sat  there,  his  eyes  gloomily  idling  with 
the  sea.  They  said  little  to  each  other — in  new 
lands  hospitality  has  not  need  of  speech.  When 
Gaspard  and  Pierre  looked  each  other  in  the 
eyes  they  knew  that  one  word  between  them  was 
as  a  hundred  with  other  men.  The  heart  knows 
its  confessor,  and  the  confessor  knows  the 
shadowed  eye  that  broods  upon  some  ghostly 
secret ;  and  when  these  are  face  to  face  there 
comes  a  merciless  concision  of  understanding. 

"From  where  away?"  said  Gaspard,  as  he 
handed  some  tobacco  to  Pierre. 

"  From  Hudson's  Bay,  down  the  Red  Wolf 
Plains,  along  the  hills,  across  the  coast  country, 
here." 

"Why?"  Gaspard  eyed  Pierre's  small  kit 
with  curiosity,  then  flung  up  a  piercing,  furtive 
look.  Pierre  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Adventure,  adventure,"  he  answered.  "The 
land"  —  he  pointed  north,  west  and  east  —  "is 
all  mine.  I  am  the  citizen  of  every  village  and 
every  camp  of  the  great  north." 

The  old  man  turned  his  head  towards  a  spot 


IO8          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

up  the  shore  of  Belle  Amour,  before  he  turned 
to  Pierre  again,  with  a  strange  look,  and  said, 
"  Where  do  you  go  ?  " 

Pierre  followed  his  gaze  to  that  point  in  the 
shore,  felt  the  undercurrent  of  vague  meaning  in 
his  voice,  guessed  what  was  his  cue,  and  said  : 
"Somewhere,  sometime;  but  now  only  Belle 
Amour.  I  have  had  a  long  travel.  I  have  found 
an  open  door.  I  will  stay,  if  you  please,  eh  ?  If 
you  please  ?" 

Gaspard  brooded.  "  It  is  lonely,"  he  said. 
"This  day  it  is  all  bright;  the  sun  shines  and 
the  little  gay  waves  crinkle  to  the  shore.  But 
man  Dieu  /  sometimes  it  is  all  black  and  ugly 
with  storm.  The  waves  come  grinding,  boom- 
ing in  along  the  gridiron  rocks" — he  smiled  a 
grim  smile  —  "break  through  the  teeth  of  the 
reefs,  and  split  with  a  roar  of  hell  upon  the 
cliff.  And  all  the  time,  and  all  the  time," — his 
voice  got  low  with  a  kind  of  devilish  joy — 
"there  is  a  finger — Jesu! you  should  see  that  finger 
of  the  devil  stretch  up  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  waiting,  waiting  for  something  to  come 
out  of  the  storm.  And  then  —  and  then  you 
can  hear  a  wild  laugh  come  out  of  the  land, 
come  up  from  the  sea,  come  down  from  the  sky 
—  all  waiting,  waiting  for  something!  No,  no, 
you  would  not  stay  here." 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  109 

Pierre  looked  again  to  that  point  in  the 
shore  towards  which  Gaspard's  eyes  had  been 
cast.  The  sun  was  shining  hard  just  then,  and 
the  stern,  sharp  rocks,  tumbling  awkwardly 
back  into  the  waste  behind,  had  an  insolent 
harshness.  Day  perched  garishly  there.  Yet 
now  and  then  the  staring  light  was  broken  by 
sudden  and  deep  shadows — great  fissures  in 
the  rocks  and  lanes  between.  These  gave  Pierre 
a  suggestion,  though  why,  he  could  not  say. 
He  knew  that  when  men  live  lives  of  patient, 
gloomy  vigilance,  they  generally  have  some- 
thing to  watch  and  guard.  Why  should 
Gaspard  remain  here  year  after  year?  His 
occupation  was  nominally  a  pilot  in  a  bay 
rarely  touched  by  vessels,  and  then  only  for 
shelter.  A  pilot  need  not  take  his  daily  life 
with  such  brooding  seriousness.  In  body  he 
was  like  flexible  metal,  all  cord  and  muscle.  He 
gave  the  impression  of  bigness,  though  he  was 
small  in  stature.  Yet,  as  Pierre  studied  him,  he 
saw  something  that  made  him  guess  the  man 
had  had  about  him  one  day  a  woman,  perhaps  a 
child;  no  man  could  carry  that  look  unless.  If 
a  woman  has  looked  at  you  from  day  to  day, 
something  of  her,  some  reflection  of  her  face, 
passes  to  yours  and  stays  there;  and  if  a  child 
has  held  your  hand  long,  or  hung  about  your 


IIO          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

knees,  it  gives  you  a  kind  of  gentle  wariness  as 
you  step  about  your  home. 

Pierre  knew  that  a  man  will  cherish  with  a 
deep,  eternal  purpose  a  memory  of  a  woman  or  q 
child,  when,  no  matter  how  compelling  his  cue 
to  remember  where  a  man  is  concerned,  he  will 
yield  it  up  in  the  end  to  time.  Certain  specu- 
lations arranged  themselves  definitely  in 
Pierre's  mind :  there  was  a  woman,  maybe  a 
child  once;  there  was  some  sorrowful  mystery 
about  them ;  there  was  a  point  in  the  shore  that 
had  held  the  old  man's  eyes  strangely;  there 
was  the  bay  with  that  fantastic  "  finger  of  the 
devil "  stretching  up  from  the  bowels  of  the 
world.  Behind  the  symbol  lay  the  Thing — 
what  was  it  ? 

Long  time  he  looked  out  upon  the  gulf,  then 
his  eyes  drew  into  the  bay  and  stayed  there, 
seeing  mechanically,  as  a  hundred  fancies  went 
through  his  mind.  There  were  reefs  of  which 
the  old  man  had  spoken.  He  could  guess  from  the 
color  and  movement  of  the  water  where  they 
were.  The  finger  of  the  devil — was  it  not  real  ? 
A  finger  of  rock,  waiting  as  the  old  man  said  — 
for  what  ? 

Gaspard  touched  his  shoulder.  He  rose  and 
went  with  him  into  the  gloomy  cabin.  They  ate 
and  drank  in  silence.  When  the  meal  was  finished 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  1 1 1 

they  sat  smoking  till  night  fell.  Then  the  pilot 
lit  a  fire,  and  drew  his  rough  chair  to  the  door. 
Though  it  was  only  late  summer,  it  was  cold  in 
the  shade  of  the  cliff.  Long  time  they  sat.  Now 
and  again  Pierre  intercepted  the  quick,  elusive 
glance  of  his  silent  host.  Once  the  pilot  took 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  leaned  his  hands 
on  his  knees  as  if  about  to  speak.  But  he  did 
not. 

Pierre  saw  that  the  time  was  ripe  for  speech. 
So  he  said,  as  though  he  knew  something :  "  It 
is  a  long  time  since  it  happened  ?  " 

Gaspard,  brooding,  answered  :  "  Yes,  a  long 
time  —  too  long."  Then,  as  if  suddenly  awak- 
ened to  the  strangeness  of  the  question,  he 
added,  in  a  startled  way :  "  What  do  you  know  ? 
tell  me  quick  what  you  know." 

"  I  know  nothing  except  what  comes  to  me 
here,  pilot" — he  touched  his  forehead  —  "but 
there  is  a  thing  —  I  am  not  sure  what.  There 
was  a  woman  —  perhaps  a  child  ;  there  is  some- 
thing on  the  shore  ;  there  is  a  hidden  point  of 
rock  in  the  bay  ;  and  you  are  waiting  for  a  ship 
—  for  the  ship,  and  it  does  not  come  —  is  n't 
that  so  ?  " 

Gaspard  got  to  his  feet,  and  peered  into 
Pierre's  immobile  face.  Their  eyes  met. 

"  Mon  Dieu  /"  said  the  pilot,  his  hand  catch- 


112          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

ing  the  smoke  away  from  between  them,  "you 
are  a  droll  man ;  you  have  a  wonderful  mind. 
You  are  cold  like  ice,  and  still  there  is  in  you  a 
look  of  fire." 

"  Sit  down,"  answered  Pierre,  quietly,  "  and 
tell  me  all.  Perhaps  I  could  think  it  out  little 
by  little;  but  it  might  take  too  long  —  and  what 
is  the  good  ?  " 

Slowly  Gaspard  obeyed.  Both  hands  rested 
on  his  knees,  and  he  stared  abstractedly  into  the 
fire.  Pierre  thrust  forward  the  tobacco-bag.  His 
hand  lifted,  took  the  tobacco,  and  then  his  eyes 
came  keenly  to  Pierre's.  He  was  about  to  speak. 

"  Fill  your  pipe  first,"  said  the  half-breed 
coolly. 

The  old  man  did  so  abstractedly.  When  the 
pipe  was  lighted  Pierre  said  :  "  Now ! " 

"  I  have  never  told  the  story,  never — not  even 
to  Pere  Corraine.  But  I  know,  I  have  it  here" 
—  he  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  as  did  Pierre 
— "that  you  will  be  silent  — 

"  She  was  fine  to  see.  Her  eyes  were  black 
as  beads;  and  when  she  laugh  it  was  all  music. 
I  was  so  happy  !  We  lived  on  the  island  of  the 
Aux  Coudres,  far  up  there  at  Quebec.  It  was  a 
wild  place.  There  were  smugglers  and  others 
there — maybe  pirates.  But  she  was  like  a  saint 
of  God  among  all.  I  was  a  lucky  man.  I  was 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  113 

pilot,  and  took  ships  out  to  sea,  and  brought 
them  in  safe  up  the  gulf.  It  is  not  all  easy,  for 
there  are  mad  places.  Once  or  twice  when  a 
wild  storm  was  on  I  could  not  land  at  Cape  Mar- 
tin, and  was  carried  out  to  sea  and  over  to 
France.  .  .  .  Well,  that  was  not  so  bad ;  there 
was  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  nothing  to  do.  But 
when  I  marry  it  was  differen'.  I  was  afraid  of 
being  carried  away  and  leave  my  wife  —  the 
belle  Mamette — alone  long  time.  You  see,  I 
was  young,  and  she  was  ver'  beautiful." 

He  paused  and  caught  his  hand  over  his 
mouth  as  though  to  stop  a  sound  ;  the  lines  of 
his  face  deepened.  Presently  he  puffed  his  pipe 
so  hard  that  the  smoke  and  the  sparks  hid  him 
in  a  cloud  through  which  he  spoke:  "When 
the  child  was  born — Holy  Mother  !  have  you 
ever  felt  the  hand  of  your  own  child  in  yours, 
and  looked  at  the  mother,  as  she  lies  there  all 
pale  and  shining  between  the  quilts?  " 

He  paused.  Pierre's  eyes  dropped  to  the 
floor. 

Gaspard  continued:  "Well,  it  is  a  great 
thing,  and  the  babe  was  born  quick  one  day 
when  we  were  all  alone.  A  thing  like  that  gives 
you  wonder.  Then  I  could  not  bear  to  go  away 
with  the  ships,  and  at  last  I  said  —  'One  month 
and  then  the  ice  fills  the  gulf,  and  there  will  be 


114          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

no  more  ships  for  the  winter.  That  will  be  the 
last  for  me.  I  will  be  pilot  no  more — no.'  She 
was  ver'  happy,  and  a  laugh  ran  over  her  little 
white  teeth.  Mori  Dieu,  I  stop  that  laugh  pretty 
quick — in  fine  way  !  " 

He  seemed  for  an  instant  to  forget  his  great 
trouble,  and  his  face  went  to  warm  sunshine  like 
a  boy's;  but  it  was  as  sun  playing  on  a  scarred 
fortress.  Presently  the  light  faded  out  of  his 
face  and  left  it  like  iron  smoldering  from  the 
bellows. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  see  there  was  a  ship 
to  go  almost  the  last  of  the  season,  and  I  said 
to  my  wife,  '  Mamette,  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall 
be  pilot.  You  must  come  with  me  and  bring 
the  child,  and  they  will  put  us  off  at  Father 
Point,  and  then  we  will  come  back  slow  to  the 
village  on  the  good  Ste.  Anne  and  live  there 
ver'  quiet.'  When  I  say  that  to  her  she  laugh 
back  at  me  and  say,  'Beau!  beau!'  and  she 
laugh  in  the  child's  eyes,  and  speak — oh,  holy ! 
she  speak  so  gentle  and  so  light — and  say  to  the 
child,  '  Would  you  like  to  go  with  your  father  a 
pretty  journey  down  the  gulf  ?'  And  the  little 
child  laugh  back  at  her,  and  shake  its  soft  brown 
hair  over  its  head.  They  were  both  so  glad  to 
go.  I  went  to  the  captain  of  the  ship.  I  say 
to  him,  '  I  will  take  my  wife  and  my  little  child, 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  115 

and  when  we  come  to  Father  Point  we  will  go 
ashore.'  JBien,  the  captain  laugh  big,  and  it 
was  all  right.  That  was  a  long  time  ago — long 
time." 

He  paused  again,  threw  his  head  back  with  a 
despairing  toss,  his  chin  dropped  on  his  breast, 
his  hands  clasped  between  his  knees,  and  his 
pipe,  laid  beside  him  on  the  bench,  was  for- 
gotten. 

Pierre  quietly  put  some  wood  upon  the  fire, 
opened  his  kit,  drew  out  from  it  a  little  flask  of 
rum,  and  laid  it  upon  the  bench  beside  the  pipe. 
A  long  time  passed.  At  last  Gaspard  roused 
himself  with  a  long  sigh,  turned  and  picked  up 
the  pipe,  but,  seeing  the  flask  of  rum,  lifted  it, 
and  took  one  long  swallow  before  he  began  to 
fill  and  light  his  pipe.  There  came  into  his 
voice  an  iron  hardness  as  he  continued  his 
story. 

"  Well,  we  went  into  the  boat.  As  we  trav- 
elled down  the  gulf  a  great  storm  came  out  of 
the  north.  We  thought  it  would  pass,  but  it 
stayed  on.  When  we  got  to  the  last  place  where 
the  pilot  could  land,  the  waves  were  running  like 
hills  to  the  shore,  and  no  boat  could  live  be- 
tween the  ship  and  the  Point.  For  myself,  it 
was  nothing — I  am  a  strong  man  and  a  great 
swimmer.  But  when  a  man  has  a  wife  and  a 


Ii6          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

child,  it  is  differen1  So  the  ship  went  on  out 
into  the  ocean  with  us.  Well,  we  laugh  a  little, 
and  think  what  a  great  brain  I  had  when  I  say 
to  my  wife,  'Come  and  bring  the  child  for  the 
last  voyage  of  Gaspard  the  pilot.'  You  see, 
there  we  were  on  board  the  ship,  everything  ver' 
good,  plenty  to  eat,  much  to  drink,  to  smoke, 
all  the  time.  The  sailors,  they  were  very  funny, 
and  to  see  them  take  my  child,  my  little  Ba- 
bette,  and  play  with  her  as  she  roll  on  the  deck — 
merci,  it  was  grand !  So  I  say  to  my  wife,  'This 
wil>  be  bon  voyage  for  all.'  But  a  woman,  she 
has  not  the  mind  like  a  man.  When  a  man 
laugh  in  the  sun  and  think  nothing  of  evil,  a 
woman  laugh,  too,  but  there  come  a  little  quick 
sob  to  her  lips.  You  ask  her  why  and  she  can- 
not tell.  She  knows  that  something  will  hap- 
pen. A  man  has  great  idee,  a  woman  great 
sight.  So  my  wife,  she  turn  her  face  away  all 
sad  from  me  then — she  was  right — she  was  right! 
"One  day  in  the  ocean  we  pass  a  ship — only 
two  days  out.  The  ship  signal  us.  I  say  to  my 
wife,  'Ha,  ha!  now  we  can  go  back,  maybe,  to 
the  good  Ste.  Anne.'  Well,  the  ships  come  close 
together,  and  the  captain  of  the  other  ship  he  have 
something  importan'  with  ours.  He  ask  if  there 
will  be  chance  of  pilot  into  the  gulf,  because  it 
is  the  first  time  that  he  visit  Quebec.  The  cap- 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  117 

tain  swing  round  and  call  to  me.  I  go  up.  I 
bring  my  wife  and  my  little  Babette ;  and  that 
was  how  we  sail  back  to  the  great  gulf ! 

"  When  my  wife  step  on  board  that  ship  I  see 
her  face  get  pale,  and  something  strange  in  her 
eyes.  I  ask  her  why  ;  she  do  not  know,  but  she 
hug  Babette  close  to  her  breast  with  a  kind  of 
fear.  A  long,  low,  black  ship,  it  could  run 
through  every  sea.  Soon  the  captain  come  to 
me  and  say,  'You  know  the  coast,  the  north 
coast  of  the  gulf,  from  Labrador  to  Quebec  ? '  1 
tell  him  yes.  'Well,'  he  say,  'do  you  know  of 
a  bay  where  few  ships  enter  safe  ?'  I  think  a 
moment  and  I  tell  him  of  Belle  Amour.  Then  he 
say,  ver'  quick,  '  That  is  the  place ;  we  will  go 
to  the  bay  of  Belle  Amour.'  He  was  ver'  kind 
to  my  face ;  he  give  my  wife  and  child  good 
berth,  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  once  more  I 
laugh;  but  my  wife — there  was  in  her  face 
something  I  not  understan'.  It  is  not  easy  to 
understan'  a  woman.  We  got  to  the  bay.  I 
had  pride :  I  was  young.  I  was  the  best  pilot 
in  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  I  took  in  the  ship  be- 
tween the  reefs  of  the  bay,  where  they  run  like 
a  gridiron,  and  I  laugh  when  I  swing  the  ship 
all  ver'  quick  to  the  right,  after  we  pass  the 
reefs,  and  make  a  curve  round — something. 
The  captain  pull  me  up  and  ask  why.  But  I 


Ii8          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

never  tell  him  that.  I  not  know  why  I  never 
tell  him.  But  the  good  God  put  the  thought 
into  my  head,  and  I  keep  it  to  this  hour,  and  it 
never  leave  me,  never — never!" 

He  slowly  rubbed  his  hands  up  and  down  his 
knees,  took  another  sip  of  rum  and  went  on : 

"  I  brought  the  ship  close  up  to  the  shore, 
and  we  went  to  anchor.  All  that  night  I  see  the 
light  of  a  fire  on  the  shore.  So  I  slide  down 
and  swim  to  the  shore.  Under  a  little  arch  of 
rocks  something  was  going  on.  I  could  not  tell, 
but  I  know  from  the  sound  that  they  are  burying 
something.  Then,  all  at  once,  it  come  to  me — 
this  is  a  pirate  ship !  I  come  closer  and  closer 
to  the  light,  and  then  I  see  a  dreadful  thing. 
There  was  the  captain  and  the  mate,  and  another. 
They  turn  quick  upon  two  other  men — two  sail- 
ors— and  kill  them.  Then  they  take  the  bodies 
and  wind  them  round  some  casks  in  a  great 
hole,  and  cover  it  all  up.  I  understand.  It  is 
the  old  legend  that  a  dead  body  will  keep  gold 
all  to  itself,  so  that  no  one  shall  find  it.  Mon 
Dieu/" — his  voice  dropped  low  and  shook  in 
hfs  throat — "  I  give  one  little  cry  at  the  sight, 
and  then  they  saw  me.  There  was  three.  They 
were  armed;  they  spring  upon  me  and  tied  me. 
Then  they  flung  me  beside  the  fire,  and  they 
cover  up  the  hole  with  the  gold  and  the  bodies. 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  119 

"  When  that  was  done  they  take  me  back  to 
the  ship,  then  with  pistols  at  my  head  they  make 
me  pilot  the  ship  out  into  the  bay  again.  As  we 
went  they  make  a  chart  of  the  place.  We  travel 
along  the  coast  for  one  day  ;  and  then  a  great 
storm  of  snow  come,  and  the  captain  say  to  me, 
'Steer  us  into  harbour.'  When  we  are  at  anchor, 
they  take  me  and  my  wife  and  little  child,  and 
put  us  ashore  alone,  with  a  storm  and  the  bare 
rocks  and  the  dreadful  night,  and  leave  us  there, 
that  we  shall  never  tell  the  secret  of  the  gold. 
That  night  my  wife  and  my  child  die  in  the 
snow." 

Here  his  voice  became  strained  and  slow. 
"After  a  long  time  I  work  my  way  to  an  Injun 
camp.  For  months  I  was  a  child  in  strength,  all 
my  flesh  gone.  When  the  spring  come  I  went 
and  dug  a  deeper  grave  for  my  wife  and  p'tite 
Babette,  and  leave  them  there,  where  they  had 
die.  But  I  come  to  the  Bay  of  Belle  Amour, 
because  I  knew  some  day  the  man  with  the 
devil's  heart  will  come  back  for  his  gold,  and 
then  would  arrive  my  time — the  hour  of  God." 

He  paused.  "  The  hour  of  God,"  he  repeated 
slowly.  "  I  have  waited  twenty  years,  but  he  has 
not  come  ;  yet  I  know  that  he  will  come.  I  feel 
it  here" — he  touched  his  forehead  ;  "  I  know  it 
here" — he  tapped  his  heart.  "Once  where  my 


I2O          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

heart  was,  there  is  only  one  thing,  and  it  is  hate, 
and  I  know  —  I  know — that  he  will  come. 

And  when  he  comes "  He  raised  his  arm 

high  above  his  head,  laughed  wildly,  paused,  let 
the  hand  drop,  and  then  fell  to  staring  in  the 
fire. 

Pierre  again  placed  the  glass  of  rum  between 
his  fingers.  But  Gaspard  put  it  down,  caught 
his  arms  together  across  his  breast,  and  never 
turned  his  face  from  the  fire.  Midnight  came, 
and  still  they  sat  there  silent.  No  man  had  a 
greater  gift  in  waiting  than  Pierre.  Many  a 
time  his  life  had  been  a  swivel,  upon  which  the 
comedies  and  tragedies  of  others  had  turned. 
He  neither  loved  nor  feared  men  ;  sometimes  he 
pitied  them.  He  pitied  Gaspard.  He  knew 
what  it  is  to  have  the  heartstrings  stretched  out, 
one  by  one,  by  the  hand  of  a  Gorgon,  while  the 
feet  are  chained  to  the  rocking  world. 

Not  till  the  darkest  hour  of  the  morning  did 
the  two  leave  their  silent  watch  and  go  to  bed. 
The  sun  had  crept  stealthily  to  the  door  of  the 
hut  before  they  rose  again.  Pierre  laid  his  hand 
upon  Gaspard's  shoulder  as  they  travelled  out 
into  the  morning,  and  said  :  "  My  friend,  I 
understand.  Your  secret  is  safe  with  me ;  you 
shall  take  me  to  the  place  where  the  gold  is 
buried,  but  it  shall  wait  there  until  the  time  is 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  121 

ripe.  What  is  gold  to  me  ?  Nothing.  To  find 
gold,  that  is  the  trick  of  any  fool.  To  win  it  or 
to  earn  it  is  the  only  game.  Let  the  bodies  rot 
about  the  gold.  You  and  I  will  wait.  I  have 
many  friends  in  the  northland,  but  there  is  no 
face  in  any  tent-door  looking  for  me.  You  are 
alone ;  well,  I  will  stay  with  you.  Who  can  tell  ? 
— perhaps  it  is  near  at  hand — the  hour  of  God!" 

The  huge  hard  hand  of  Gaspard  swallowed 
the  small  hand  of  Pierre,  and,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
above  a  whisper,  he  answered:  "You  shall  be 
my  comrade.  I  have  told  you  all,  as  I  have 
never  told  it  to  my  God.  I  do  not  fear  you 
about  the  gold  ;  it  is  all  cursed.  You  are  not 
like  other  men ;  I  will  trust  you.  Some  time 
you  also  have  had  the  throat  of  a  man  in  your 
fingers,  and  watch  the  life  spring  out  of  his 
eyes,  and  leave  them  all  empty.  When  men  feel 
like  that,  what  is  gold  ?  what  is  anything  ? 
There  is  food  in  the  bay  and  on  the  hills.  We 
will  live  together,  you  and  I.  Come  and  I  will 
show  you  the  place  of  hell." 

Together  they  journeyed  down  the  crag  and 
along  the  beach  to  the  place  where  the  gold,  the 
grim  god  of  this  world,  was  fortressed  and  bas- 
tioned  by  its  victims. 

The  days  went  on ;  the  weeks  and  months 
ambled  by.  Still  the  two  lived  together.  Little 


122          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

speech  passed  between  them,  save  that  speech  of 
comrades,  who  use  more  the  sign  than  the 
tongue.  It  seemed  to  Pierre  after  a  time  that 
Gaspard's  wrongs  were  almost  his  own.  Yet 
with  this  difference :  he  must  stand  by  and  let 
the  avenger  be  the  executioner ;  he  must  be  the 
spectator  merely. 

Sometimes  he  went  inland  and  brought  back 
moose,  caribou,  and  the  skins  of  other  animals, 
thus  assisting  Gaspard  in  his  dealings  with  the 
great  Company.  But  again  there  were  days 
when  he  did  nothing  but  lie  on  the  skins  at  the 
hut's  door,  or  saunter  in  the  shadows  and  the 
sunlight.  Not  since  he  had  come  to  Gaspard 
had  a  ship  passed  the  bay  or  sought  to  anchor 
in  it. 

But  there  came  a  day.  It  was  the  early  sum- 
mer. The  snow  had  shrunk  from  the  ardent 
sun,  and  had  swilled  away  to  the  gulf,  leaving 
the  tender  grass  showing,  The  moss  on  the 
rocks  had  changed  from  brown  to  green,  and 
the  vagrant  birds  had  fluttered  back  from  the 
south.  The  winter's  furs  had  been  carried  away  in 
the  early  spring  to  the  Company's  post,  by  a  de- 
tachment of  coureurs  de  bois.  There  was  little 
left  to  do.  This  morning  they  sat  in  the  sun, 
looking  out  upon  the  gulf.  Presently,  Gaspard 
rose  and  went  into  the  hut.  Pierre's  eyes  still  lazily 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  123 

scanned  the  water.  As  he  looked  he  saw  a  ves- 
sel rounding  a  point  in  the  distance.  Suppose 
this  was  the  ship  of  the  pirate  and  murderer  ? 
The  fancy  diverted  him.  His  eyes  drew  away 
from  the  indistinct  craft — first  to  the  reefs,  and 
then  to  that  spot  where  the  colossal  needle 
stretched  up  under  the  water. 

It  was  as  Pierre  speculated.  Brigond,  the 
French  pirate,  who  had  hidden  his  gold  at  such 
shameless  cost,  was,  after  twenty  years  in  the 
galleys  at  Toulon,  come  back  to  find  his  treas- 
ure. He  had  doubted  little  that  he  would  find 
it.  The  lonely  spot,  the  superstition  concerning 
dead  bodies,  the  supposed  doom  of  Gaspard,  all 
ran  in  his  favor.  His  little  craft  came  on, 
manned  by  as  vile  a  mob  as  ever  mutinied  or 
built  a  wrecker's  fire. 

When  the  ship  got  within  a  short  distance  of 
the  bay  Pierre  rose  and  called.  Gaspard  came 
to  the  door. 

"  There  's  work  to  do,  pilot,"  he  said.  Gas- 
pard felt  the  thrill  of  his  voice,  and  flashed  a 
look  out  to  the  gulf.  He  raised  his  hands  with 
a  gasp.  "I  feel  it,"  he  said  :  "  it  is  the  hour  of 
God !  " 

He  started  to  the  rope  ladder  of  the  cliff, 
then  wheeled  suddenly  and  came  back  to  Pierre. 
"You  must  not  come,"  he  said.  "Stay  here 


124  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

and  watch  ;  you  shall  see  great  things."  His 
voice  had  a  round,  deep  tone.  He  caught  both 
Pierre's  hands  in  his  and  added  :  "  It  is  for  my 
wife  and  child  ;  I  have  no  fear  1  Adieu,  my 
friend  !  When  you  see  the  good  Pere  Corraine 
say  to  him — but  no,  it  is  no  matter — there  is 
One  greater  ! " 

Once  again  he  caught  Pierre  hard  by  the 
shoulder,  then  ran  to  the  cliff  and  swung  down 
the  ladder.  All  at  once  there  shot  through 
Pierre's  body  an  impulse,  and  his  eyes  lighted 
with  excitement.  He  sprang  toward  the  cliff. 
"  Gaspard,  come  back!"  he  called;  then 
paused,  and,  with  an  enigmatical  smile,  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders,  drew  back,  and  waited. 

The  vessel  was  hove  to  outside  the  bay,  as  if 
hesitating.  Brigond  was  considering  whether  it 
were  better,  with  his  scant  chart,  to  attempt  the 
bay,  or  to  take  small  boats  and  make  for  the 
shore.  He  remembered  the  reefs,  but  he  did 
not  know  of  the  needle  of  rock. 

Presently  he  saw  Gaspard's  boat  coming. 
"  Some  one  who  knows  the  bay,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
see  a  hut  on  the  cliff." 

"Hello!  who  are  you?"  Brigond  called 
down  as  Gaspard  drew  alongside. 

"A  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  man,"  an- 
swered Gaspard. 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  125 

"  How  many  are  there  of  you  ?" 

"  Myself  alone." 

"Can  you  pilot  us  in  ?" 

"  I  know  the  way." 

"Come  up." 

Gaspard  remembered  Brigond,  and  he  veiled 
his  eyes  lest  the  hate  he  felt  should  reveal  him. 
No  one  could  have  recognized  him  as  the  young 
pilot  of  twenty  years  before.  Then  his  face 
was  cheerful  and  bright,  and  in  his  eye  was  the 
fire  of  youth.  Now  a  thick  beard  and  furrowing 
lines  hid  all  the  look  of  the  past.  His  voice 
too  was  desolate  and  distant. 

Brigond  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"How  long  have  you  lived  off  there?"  he 
asked,  as  he  jerked  his  finger  toward  the  shore. 

"  A  good  many  years." 

"Did  anything  strange  ever  happen  there?" 

Gaspard  felt  his  heart  contract  again,  as  it 
did  when  Brigond's  hand  touched  his  shoulder. 

"  Nothing  strange  is  known." 

A  vicious  joy  came  into  Brigond's  face.  His 
fingers  opened  and  shut.  "  Safe,  by  the  holy 
heaven  ! "  he  grunted. 

" '  By  the  holy  heaven  ! '  "  repeated  Gaspard, 
under  his  breath. 

They  walked  forward.  Almost  as  they  did  so 
there  came  a  big  puff  of  wind  across  the  bay ; 


126          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

one  of  those  sudden  currents  that  run  in  from 
the  ocean  and  the  gulf  stream.  Gaspard  saw, 
and  smiled.  In  a  moment  the  vessel's  nose  was 
towards  the  bay,  and  she  sailed  in,  dipping  a 
shoulder  to  the  sudden  foam.  On  she  came 
past  reef  and  bar,  a  pretty  tumbril  to  the 
slaughter.  The  spray  feathered  up  to  her  sails, 
the  sun  caught  her  on  deck  and  beam  ;  she  was 
running  dead  for  the  needle  of  rock. 

Brigond  stood  at  Gaspard's  side.  All  at  once 
Gaspard  made  the  sacred  gesture  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone,  as  if  only  to  himself:  "Pardon,  mon 
Capitaine,  mon  Jesu!"  Then  he  turned  triumph- 
antly, fiercely  upon  Brigond.  The  pirate  was 
startled.  "What 's  the  matter?"  he  said. 

Not  Gaspard,  but  the  needle  rock  replied. 
There  was  a  sudden  shock;  the  vessel  stood  still 
and  shivered;  lurched,  swung  shoulder  down- 
wards, reeled  and  struggled.  Instantly  she  be- 
gan to  sink. 

"The boats!  lower  the  boats!"  cried  Brigond. 
"This  cursed  fool  has  run  us  on  a  rock!" 

The  waves,  running  high,  now  swept  over  the 
deck.  Brigond  started  aft,  but  Gaspard  sprang 
before  him.  "  Stand  back,"  he  called.  "  Where 
you  are  you  die!" 

Brigond,  wild  with  terror  and  rage,  ran  at 
him.  Gaspard  caught  him  as  he  came.  With 


The  Pilot  of  Belle  Amour  127 

vast  strength  he  lifted  him  and  dashed  him  to 
the  deck.  "Die  there,  murderer!"  he  cried. 

Brigond  crouched  upon  the  deck,  looking  at 
him  with  fearful  eyes.  "Who  are  you?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  am  Gaspard  the  pilot.  I  have  waited  for 
you  twenty  years.  Up  there,  in  the  snow,  my 
wife  and  child  died.  Here,  in  this  bay,  you 
die!" 

Noise  and  racketing  were  behind  them,  but 
they  two  heard  nothing.  The  one  was  alone 
with  his  terror,  the  other  with  his  soul.  Once, 
twice,  thrice,  the  vessel  heaved,  then  suddenly 
stilled. 

Gaspard  understood.  One  look  at  his  victim, 
then  he  made  the  sacred  gesture  again,  and 
folded  his  arms. 

Pierre,  from  the  height  of  the  cliff,  looking 
down,  saw  the  vessel  dip  at  the  bow  :  and  then 
the  waters  divided  and  swallowed  it  up. 

"  Gaspard  should  have  lived,"  he  said.  "  But 
— who  can  tell  ?  Perhaps  Mamette  was  waiting 
for  him." 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine 
I.     THE  SEARCH 

She  was  only  a  big  gulf  yawl,  which  a  man 
and  a  boy  could  manage  at  a  pinch,  with  old- 
fashioned  high  bulwarks,  but  lying  clean  in  the 
water.  She  had  a  tolerable  record  for  speed, 
and  for  other  things  so  important  that  they  were 
now  and  again  considered  by  the  Government 
at  Quebec.  She  was  called  the  Ninety-Nine. 
With  a  sense  of  humour  the  cure"  had  called  her 
so,  after  an  interview  with  her  owner  and  cap- 
tain, Tarboe  the  smuggler.  When  he  said  to 
Tarboe  at  Angel  Point  that  he  had  come  to  seek 
the  one  sheep  that  was  lost,  leaving  behind  him 
the  other  ninety-and-nine  within  the  fold  at  Isle 
of  Days,  Tarboe  had  replied  that  it  was  a  mis- 
take— he  was  the  ninety-nine,  for  he  needed  no 
repentance,  and  immediately  offered  the  cure" 
some  old  brown  brandy  of  fine  flavour.  They 
both  had  a  whimsical  turn,  and  the  cur£  did 
not  ask  Tarboe  how  he  came  by  such  perfect 
liquor.  Many  high  in  authority,  it  was  said,  had 
been  soothed  even  to  the  winking  of  an  eye 
128 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        129 

when  they  ought  to  have  sent  a  Nordenfelt 
against  the  Ninety-Nine. 

The  day  after  the  cure"  left  Angel  Point  he 
spoke  of  Tarboe  and  his  craft  as  the  Ninety-and- 
Nine;  and  Tarboe  hearing  of  this — for  some- 
how he  heard  everything — immediately  painted 
out  the  old  name,  and  called  her  the  Ninety- 
Nine,  saying  that  she  had  been  so  blessed  by  the 
cure".  Afterwards  the  Ninety-Nine  had  an  in- 
creasing reputation  for  exploit  and  daring.  In 
brief,  Tarboe  and  his  craft  were  smugglers,  and 
to  have  trusted  gossip  would  have  been  to  say 
that  the  boat  was  as  guilty  as  the  man. 

Their  names  were  much  more  notorious  than 
sweet;  and  yet  in  Quebec  men  laughed  as  they 
shrugged  their  shoulders  at  them;  for  as  many 
jovial  things  as  evil  were  told  of  Tarboe.  When 
it  became  known  that  a  dignitary  of  the  Church 
had  been  given  a  case  of  splendid  wine,  which 
had  come  in  a  roundabout  way  to  him,  men 
waked  in  the  night  and  laughed,  to  the  annoy- 
ance of  their  wives;  for  the  same  dignitary  had 
preached  a  powerful  sermon  against  smugglers 
and  the  receivers  of  stolen  goods.  It  was  a  sad 
thing  for  the  good  man  to  be  called  a  Ninety- 
Niner,  as  were  all  good  friends  of  Tarboe,  high 
and  low.  But  when  he  came  to  know,  after  the 
wine  had  been  leisurely  drank  and  becomingly 


130  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

praised,  he  brought  his  influence  to  bear  in  civic 
places,  so  that  there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but 
to  corner  Tarboe  at  last. 

It  was  in  the  height  of  summer,  when  there 
was  little  to  think  of  in  the  old  fortressed  city, 
and  a  dart  after  a  brigand  appealed  to  the  ro- 
mantic natures  of  the  idle  French  folk,  common 
and  gentle. 

Through  clouds  of  rank  tobacco  smoke,  and 
in  the  wash  of  their  bean  soup,  the  habitants  dis- 
cussed the  fate  of  "Black  Tarboe,"  and  officers 
of  the  garrison  and  idle  ladies  gossiped  at  the 
Citadel  and  at  Murray  Bay  of  the  freebooting 
gentleman  whose  Ninety-Nine  had  furnished 
forth  many  a  table  in  the  great  walled  city. 
But  Black  Tarboe  himself  was  down  at  Anticosti 
waiting  for  a  certain  merchantman.  Passing 
vessels  saw  the  Ninety-Nine  anchored  in  an  open 
bay,  flying  its  flag  flippantly  before  the  world — 
a  rag  of  black  sheepskin,  with  the  wool  on,  in 
profane  keeping  with  its  name. 

There  was  no  attempt  at  hiding,  no  skulking 
behind  a  point,  or  scurrying  from  observation, 
but  an  indolent  and  insolent  waiting — for  some- 
thing. "Black  Tarboe 's  getting  reckless!"  said 
one  captain  coming  in,  and  another  going  out 
grinned  as  he  remembered  the  talk  at  Quebec,  and 
thought  of  the  sport  provided  for  the  Ninety-Nine 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        131 

when  she  should  come  up  stream,  as  she  must 
in  due  time,  for  Tarboe's  home  was  on  the  Isle 
of  Days,  and  was  not  he  fond  and  proud  of  his 
daughter  Joan  to  a  point  of  folly  ?  He  was  not 
alone  in  his  admiration  of  Joan,  for  the  cure  at 
Isle  of  Days  said  high  things  of  her. 

Perhaps  this  was  because  she  was  unlike  most 
other  girls,  and  women  too,  in  that  she  had  a 
sense  of  humour,  got  from  having  mixed  with 
choice  spirits  who  visited  her  father  and  carried 
out  at  Angel  Point  a  kind  of  freemasonry,  which 
had  few  rites  and  many  charges  and  counter- 
charges. She  had  that  almost  impossible  gift 
in  a  woman — the  power  of  telling  a  tale  whimsi- 
cally. It  was  said  that  once,  when  Orvay  Lafarge, 
a  new  Inspector  of  Customs,  came  to  spy  out  the 
land,  she  kept  him  so  amused  by  her  quaint  wit 
that  he  sat  in  the  doorway  gossiping  with  her 
while  Tarboe  and  two  others  unloaded  and  safely 
hid  away  a  cargo  of  liquors  from  the  Ninety- 
Nine.  And  one  of  the  men,  as  cheerful  as  Joan 
herself,  undertook  to  carry  a  little  keg  of  brandy 
into  the  house,  under  the  very  nose  of  the  young 
inspector,  who  had  sought  to  mark  his  appoint- 
ment by  the  detection  and  arrest  of  Tarboe 
single-handed.  He  had  never  met  Tarboe  or 
Tarboe's  daughter  when  he  made  his  boast.  If 
his  superiors  had  known  that  Loce  Bissonnette, 


132           An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

Tarboe's  jovial  lieutenant,  had  carried  the  keg 
of  brandy  into  the  house  in  a  water-pail,  not  fif- 
teen feet  from  where  Lafarge  sat  with  Joan,  they 
might  have  asked  for  his  resignation.  True,  the 
thing  was  cleverly  done,  for  Bissonnette  made 
the  water  spill  quite  naturally  against  his  leg, 
and  when  he  turned  to  Joan  and  said  in  a  crusty 
way  that  he  did  n't  care  if  he  spilled  all  the 
water  in  the  pail,  he  looked  so  like  an  unwilling 
water-carrier  that  Joan  for  one  little  moment  did 
not  guess.  When  she  understood  she  laughed 
till  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  presently, 
because  Lafarge  seemed  hurt,  gave  him  to  under- 
stand that  he  was  upon  his  honour  if  she  told 
him  what  it  was.  He  consenting,  she,  still  laugh- 
ing, asked  him  into  the  house,  and  then  drew 
the  keg  from  the  pail,  before  his  eyes,  and,  tap- 
ping it,  gave  him  some  liquor,  which  he  accepted 
without  churlishness.  He  found  nothing  in  this 
to  lessen  her  in  his  eyes,  for  he  knew  that  women 
have  no  civic  virtues. 

He  drank  to  their  better  acquaintance  with 
few  compunctions,  a  matter  not  scandalous,  for 
there  is  nothing  like  a  witty  woman  to  turn  a 
man's  head,  and  there  was  not  so  much  at  stake 
after  all.  Tarboe  had  gone  on  for  many  a  year 
till  his  trade  seemed  like  the  romance  of  law 
rather  than  its  breach.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        133 

Lafarge  was  a  less  sincere  if  not  a  less  blameless 
customs  officer  from  this  time  forth.  For 
humour  on  a  woman's  lips  is  a  potent  thing,  as 
any  man  knows  that  has  kissed  it  off  in 
laughter. 

As  we  said,  Tarboe  lay  rocking  in  a  bight  at 
Anticosti  with  an  empty  hold  and  a  scanty 
larder.  Still,  he  was  in  no  ill-humor,  for  he 
smoked  much  and  talked  more  than  common. 
Perhaps  that  was  because  Joan  was  with  him  — 
an  unusual  thing.  She  was  as  good  a  sailor  as 
her  father,  but  she  did  not  care,  nor  did  he,  to 
have  her  mixed  up  with  him  in  his  smuggling. 
So  far  as  she  knew,  she  had  never  been  on 
board  the  Ninety-Nine  when  it  carried  a 
smuggled  cargo.  She  had  not  broken  the  letter 
of  the  law.  Her  father,  on  asking  her  to  come 
on  this  cruise,  had  said  that  it  was  a  pleasure 
trip,  to  meet  a  vessel  in  the  gulf. 

The  pleasure  had  not  been  remarkable, 
though  there  had  been  no  bad  weather.  The 
coast  of  Anticosti  is  cheerless,  and  it  is  possible 
even  to  tire  of  sun  and  water.  True,  Bisson- 
nette  played  the  concertina  with  passing  sweet- 
ness, and  sang  as  little  like  a  wicked  smuggler 
as  one  might  think.  But  there  were  boundaries 
even  to  that,  as  there  were  to  his  lovemaking, 
which  was,  however,  so  interwoven  with  laughter 


134           An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

that  it  was  impossible  to  think  the  matter 
serious.  Sometimes  of  an  evening  Joan  danced 
on  deck  to  the  music  of  the  concertina  — 
dances  which  had  their  origin  largely  with  her- 
self :  fantastic,  touched  off  with  some  unex- 
pected sleight  of  foot  —  almost  uncanny  at 
times  to  Bissonnette,  whose  temperament  could 
hardly  go  her  distance  when  her  mood  was  as  this. 

Tarboe  looked  on  with  a  keener  eye  and 
understanding,  for  was  she  not  bone  of  his  bone 
and  flesh  of  his  flesh  ?  Who  was  he  that  he 
should  fail  to  know  her  ?  He  saw  the  moon- 
light play  on  her  face  and  hair,  and  he  waved 
his  head  with  the  swaying  of  her  body,  and 
smacked  his  lips  in  thought  of  the  fortune, 
which,  smuggling  days  over,  would  carry  them 
up  to  St.  Louis  Street,  Quebec,  there  to  dwell 
as  in  a  garden  of  good  things. 

After  many  days  had  passed,  Joan  tired  of 
the  concertina,  of  her  own  dancing,  of  her 
father's  tales,  and  became  inquisitive.  So  at 
last  she  said:  "  Father,  what 's  all  this  for  ?" 

Tarboe  did  not  answer  her  at  once,  but,  turn- 
ing to  Bissonnette,  asked  him  to  play  "The 
Demoiselle  with  the  Scarlet  Hose."  It  was  a 
gay  little  demoiselle,  according  to  Bissonnette, 
and  through  the  creaking,  windy  gaiety  Tarboe 
and  his  daughter  could  talk  without  being 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        135 

heard  by  the  musician.  Tarboe  lit  another 
cigar — that  badge  of  greatness  in  the  eyes  of 
his  fellow-habitants,  and  said: 

"  What 's  all  this  for,  Joan  ?  Why,  we  're 
here  for  our  health."  His  teeth  bit  on  the 
cigar  with  enjoyable  emphasis. 

"  If  you  do  n't  tell  me  what 's  in  the  wind, 
you  '11  be  sorry.  Come,  where 's  the  good  ! 
I  've  got  as  much  head  as  you  have,  father, 
and—" 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  Much  more.  That 's  not  the 
question.  It  was  to  be  a  surprise  to  you." 

"  Pshaw  !  You  can  only  have  one  minute  of 
surprise,  and  you  can  have  months  of  fun  look- 
ing out  for  a  thing.  I  do  n't  want  surprises  ;  I 
want  what  you  've  got — the  thing  that 's  kept 
you  good-tempered  while  we  lie  here  like  snails 
on  the  rocks." 

"  Well,  my  cricket,  if  that 's  the  way  you 
feel,  here  you  are.  It  is  a  long  story,  but  I  will 
make  it  short.  Once  there  was  a  pirate  called 
Brigond,  and  he  brought  into  a  bay  on  the 
coast  of  Labrador  a  fortune  in  some  kegs — 
gold,  gold  !  He  hid  it  in  a  cave,  wrapping 
around  it  the  dead  bodies  of  two  men.  It  is 
thought  that  no  one  can  ever  find  it  so.  He 
hid  it,  and  sailed  away.  He  was  captured,  and 
sent  to  prison  in  France  for  twenty  years. 


136          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

Then  he  came  back  with  a  crew  and  another 
ship,  and  sailed  into  the  bay,  but  his  ship  went 
down  within  sight  of  the  place.  And  so  the 
end  of  him  and  all.  But  wait.  There  was  one 
man,  the  mate  on  the  first  voyage.  He  had 
been  put  in  prison  also.  He  did  not  get  away 
as  soon  as  Brigond.  When  he  was  free  he  come 
to  the  captain  of  a  ship  that  I  know,  the  Free- 
and-Easyt  that  sails  to  Havre,  and  told  him  the 
story,  asking  for  a  passage  to  Quebec.  The 
captain — Gobal — did  not  believe  it,  but  said  he 
would  bring  him  over  on  the  next  voyage. 
Gobal  come  to  me  and  told  me  all  there  was  to 
tell.  I  said  that  it  was  a  true  story,  for  Pretty 
Pierre  told  me  once  he  saw  Brigond's  ship  go 
down  in  the  bay  ;  but  he  would  not  say  how, 
or  why  or  where.  Pierre  would  not  lie  in  a 
thing  like  that,  and — " 

"  Why  did  n't  he  get  the  gold  himself?" 
"  What  is  money  to  him  ?  He  is  a  gypsy. 
To  him  the  money  is  cursed.  He  said  so.  Eh 
bien!  some  wise  men  are  fools,  one  way  or 
another.  Well,  I  told  Gobal  I  would  give  the 
man  the  Ninety-Nine  for  the  cruise  and  search, 
and  that  we  should  divide  the  gold  between  us, 
if  it  was  found,  first  taking  out  enough  to  make 
a  dot  for  you  and  a  fine  handful  for  Bissonnette. 
But  no,  shake  not  your  head  like  that.  It  shall 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        137 

be  so.  Away  went  Gobal  four  months  ago,  and 
I  get  a  letter  from  him  weeks  past,  just  after 
Whitsunday,  to  say  he  would  be  here  some  time 
in  the  first  of  July,  with  the  man.  Well,  it  is  a 
great  game.  The  man  is  a  pirate,  but  it  does 
not  matter,  he  has  paid  for  that.  I  thought  you 
would  be  glad  of  a  fine  adventure  like  that,  so  I 
said  to  you,  'Come.'  " 

«  But,  father " 

"  If  you  do  not  like  you  can  go  on  with 
Gobal  in  the  free- and- Easy,  and  you  shall  be 
landed  at  the  Isle  of  Days.  That 's  all.  We  're 
waiting  here  for  Gobal.  He  promised  to  stop 
just  outside  this  bay  and  land  our  man  on  us. 
Then,  blood  of  my  heart,  away  we  go  after  the 
treasure!" 

Joan's  eyes  flashed.  Adventure  was  in  her  as 
deep  as  life  itself.  She  had  been  cradled  in  it, 
reared  in  it,  lived  with  it,  and  here  was  no  law- 
breaking.  Whose  money  was  it  ?  No  one's,  for 
who  should  say  what  ship  it  was,  or  what  people 
were  robbed  by  Brigond  and  those  others  ? 
Gold,  that  was  a  better  game  than  wine  and 
brandy,  and  for  once  her  father  would  be  on  a 
cruise  which  would  not  be,  as  it  were,  sailing  in 
forbidden  waters. 

"When  do  you  expect  Gobal?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 


138          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  here  a  week  ago. 
Maybe  he  has  had  a  bad  voyage  or  something." 

"  He  's  sure  to  come  ?" 

"  Of  course.  I  found  out  about  that.  She  's 
got  a  big  consignment  to  people  in  Quebec. 
Something  has  gone  wrong,  but  she  '11  be  here — 
yes." 

"What  will  you  do  if  you  get  the  money  ?" 
she  asked. 

Tarboe  laughed  heartily.  "  My  faith  !  come, 
play  up  them  scarlet  hose,  Bissonette !  My 
faith !  I  '11  go  into  Parliament  at  Quebec. 
Thunder !  I  will  have  sport  with  them.  I  '11  re- 
form the  customs.  There  shan't  be  any  more 
smuggling.  The  people  of  Quebec  '11  drink 
no  more  good  wine,  no  one  except  Black 
Tarboe,  the  member  for  Isle  of  Days." 

Again  he  laughed,  and  his  eyes  spilt  fire  like 
revolving  wheels.  For  a  moment  Joan  was 
quiet,  her  face  was  shining  like  the  sun  on  a 
river.  She  saw  more  than  her  father,  for  she  saw 
release.  A  woman  may  stand  by  a  man  who 
breaks  the  law,  but  in  her  heart  she  always  has 
bitterness,  for  that  the  world  shall  speak  well  of 
herself  and  what  she  loves  is  the  secret  desire  of 
every  woman.  In  her  heart  she  never  can  defy 
the  world  as  does  a  man. 

She  had  carried  off  the  situation  as  became 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        139 

the  daughter  of  a  daring  adventurer,  who  in 
more  stirring  times  might  have  been  a  Du  Lhut 
or  a  Rob  Roy,  but  she  was  sometimes  tired  of 
the  fighting,  sometimes  wishful  that  she  could 
hold  her  position  easier.  Suppose  the  present 
good  cur£  should  die  and  another  less  consider- 
ate arrive,  how  hard  might  her  position  become. 
Then,  she  had  a  spirit  above  her  station,  as  have 
most  people  who  know  the  world  and  have  seen 
something  of  its  forbidden  side  ;  for  it  is  notable 
that  wisdom  comes  not  alone  from  loving  good 
things,  but  from  having  seen  evil  as  well  as  good. 
Besides,  Joan  was  not  a  woman  to  go  singly  to 
her  life's  end. 

There  was  scarcely  a  man  on  Isle  of  Days  and 
in  the  parish  of  Ste.  Eunice,  on  the  mainland, 
but  would  gladly  have  taken  to  wife  the  daughter 
of  Tarboe  the  smuggler,  and  it  is  likely  that  the 
cure  of  either  parish  would  not  have  advised 
against  it. 

Joan  had  had  the  taste  of  the  lawless,  and 
now  she  knew,  as  she  sat  and  listened  to  Bis- 
sonnette's  music,  that  she  also  could  dance  for 
joy,  in  the  hope  of  a  taste  of  the  lawful.  With 
this  money,  if  it  were  got,  there  could  be  another 
life —  in  Quebec.  She  could  not  forbear  laugh- 
ing now,  as  she  remembered  that  first  day  she  had 
seen  Orvay  Lafarge,  and  she  said  to  Bissonnette  : 


140          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"  Loce,  do  you  mind  the  keg  in  the  water- 
pail  ?  "  Bissonnette  paused  on  an  out-pull  and 
threw  back  his  head  with  a  soundless  laugh,  then 
played  the  concertina  into  contortions. 

"  That  Lafarge !  H'm  !  He  is  very  polite  ; 
but,  pshaw,  it  is  no  use  that,  in  whiskey-running. 
To  beat  a  great  man,  a  man  must  be  great. 
Tarboe  Noir  can  lead  M'sieu'  Lafarge  all  like 
that!" 

It  seemed  as  if  he  were  pulling  the  nose  of 
the  concertina.  Tarboe  began  tracing  a  kind  of 
maze  with  his  fingers  on  the  deck,  his  eyes 
rolling  outward  like  an  endless  puzzle.  But 
presently  he  turned  sharp  on  Joan. 

"  How  many  times  have  you  met  him  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  six  or  seven  —  eight  or  nine,  perhaps." 

Her  father  stared.  "  Eight  or  nine  ?  By 
the  holy  !  Is  it  like  that  ?  Where  have  you 
seen  him  ?" 

"  Twice  at  our  home,  as  you  know ;  two  or 
three  times  at  dances  at  the  Belle  Chatelaine, 
and  the  rest  when  we  were  at  Quebec,  in  May. 
He  is  amusing,  M'sieu'  Lafarge." 

"  Yes,  two  of  a  kind,"  remarked  Tarboe  drily, 
and  then  told  his  schemes  to  Joan,  letting  Bis- 
sonnette hang  up  "The  Demoiselle  with  the 
Scarlet  Hose,"  and  begin  "  The  Coming  of  the 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        141 

Gay  Cavalier."  She  entered  into  his  plans  with 
spirit,  and  together  they  speculated  what  bay  it 
might  be,  of  the  many  on  the  coast  of  Labra- 
dor. 

They  spent  two  days  longer  waiting,  arxd 
then  at  dawn  a  merchantman  came  sauntering 
up  to  anchor.  She  signalled  to  the  Ninety-Nine. 
In  five  minutes  Tarboe  was  climbing  up  the  side 
of  the  Free-and-Easy,  and  presently  was  in 
Gobal's  cabin,  with  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand. 

"  What  kept  you,  Gobal  ? "  he  said.  "You  're 
ten  days  late,  at  least." 

"  Storm  and  sickness — broken  mainmast  and 
smallpox."  Gobal  was  not  cheerful. 

Tarboe  caught  at  something.  "  You  've  got 
our  man?" 

Gobal  drank  off  his  wine  slowly.  "Yes,"  he 
said. 

"Well?     Why  do  n't  you  fetch  him?" 

'You  can  see  him  below." 

"The  man  has  legs,  let  him  walk  here. 
Hello!  my  Gobal,  what 's  the  matter?  If  he  's 
here,  bring  him  up.  We  've  no  time  to  lose." 

"Tarboe,  the  fool  got  smallpox  and  died 
three  hours  ago — the  tenth  man  since  we  started. 
We  're  going  to  give  him  to  the  fishes.  They  're 
putting  him  in  his  linen  now." 

Tarboe's  face  hardened.    Disaster  did  not  dis- 


142          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

may  him,  it  either  made  him  ugly  or  humorous, 
and  one  phase  was  as  dangerous  as  the  other. 

"D  'ye  mean  to  say,"  he  groaned,  "that  the 
game  is  up?  is  it  all  finished?  Sweat  o*  my 
soul,  my  soul  crawls  like  hot  tin  !  Is  it  the 
end,  eh?  The  beast,  to  die!" 

Gobal's  eyes  glistened.  He  had  sent  up  the 
mercury,  he  would  now  bring  it  down. 

"  Not  such  a  beast  as  you  think.  A  live 
pirate,  a  convict  as  comrade  in  adventure,  is  not 
sugar  in  the  teeth.  This  one  was  no  better  than 
the  worst.  Well,  he  died.  That  was  awkward. 
But  he  give  me  the  chart  of  the  bay  before  he 
died — and  that  was  damn  square." 

Tarboe  held  out  his  hand  eagerly,  the  big 
fingers  bending  claw-like. 

"  Give  it  me,  Gobal !"  he  said. 

"  Wait.  There 's  no  hurry.  Come  along, 
there  's  the  bell;  they  're  going  to  drop  him." 

He  coolly  motioned,  and  passed  out  from  the 
cabin  to  the  ship's  side.  Tarboe  kept  his  tongue 
from  blasphemy  and  his  hand  from  the  captain's 
shoulder,  for  he  knew  only  too  well  that  Gobal 
held  the  game  in  his  hands.  They  leaned  over 
and  saw  two  sailors  with  something  on  a  plank. 

"  We  therefore  commit  his  body  to  the  deep, 
in  the  knowledge  of  the  Judgment  Day — let  her 
go!"  grunted  Gobal;  and  a  long  straight  canvas 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        143 

bundle  shot  with  a  swishing  sound  beneath  the 
water.  "It  was  rough  on  him,  too,"  he  contin- 
ued; "he  waited  twenty  years  to  have  his  chance 
again.  Damn  me,  if  I  did  n't  feel  as  if  I  'd  hit 
him  in  the  eye  somehow  when  he  begged  me  to 
keep  him  alive  long  enough  to  have  a  look  at  the 
rhino.  But  it  was  n't  no  use.  He  had  to  go, 
and  I  told  him  so.  Then  he  did  the  nice  thing; 
he  give  me  the  chart.  But  he  made  me  swear 
on  a  book  of  the  Mass  that  if  we  got  the  gold 
we  'd  send  one-half  his  share  to  a  woman  in 
Paris,  and  the  rest  to  his  brother,  a  priest  at 
Nancy.  I  '11  keep  my  word — but  yes  !  Eh, 
Tarboe?" 

"  You  can  keep  your  word  for  me  !  What, 
you  think,  Gobal,  there  is  no  honor  in  Black 
Tarboe,  and  you  've  known  me  ten  years ! 
Haven  't  I  always  kept  my  word  like  a  clock  ?" 

Gobal  stretched  out  his  hand.  "  Like  the 
sun — sure.  That  's  enough.  We  '11  stand  by 
my  oath.  You  shall  see  the  chart." 

Going  again  inside  the  cabin,  Gobal  took  out 
a  map  grimed  with  ceaseless  fingering,  and 
showed  it  to  Tarboe,  putting  his  finger  on  the 
spot  where  the  treasure  lay. 

"  The  Bay  of  Belle  Amour  !  "  cried  Tarboe, 
his  eyes  flashing.  "Ah,  I  know  it.  That  's 
where  Gaspard  the  pilot  lived.  It 's  only  forty 


144          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

leagues  or  so  from  here."  His  fingers  ran  here 
and  there  on  the  map.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  it  's  so,  but  he  has  n't  placed  the  reef 
right.  Ah,  here  is  how  Brigond's  ship  went 
down.  There  's  a  needle  of  rock  in  the  bay.  It 
is  n't  here. 

Gobal  handed  the  chart  over.  "  I  can  't  go 
with  you,  but  I  take  your  word  ;  I  can  say  no 
more.  If  you  cheat  me,  I  '11  kill  you  ;  that 's 
all." 

"  Let  me  give  a  bond,"  said  Tarboe  quickly. 
"  If  I  saw  much  gold  perhaps  I  could  n't  trust 
myself,  but  there's  some  one  to  be  trusted,  who  '11 
swear  for  me.  If  my  daughter  Joan  give  her 
word—" 

"Is  she  with  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  the  Ninety-Nine,  now.  I  '11  send 
Bissonnette  for  her.  Yes,  yes,  I  '11  send,  for  gold 
is  worse  than  bad  whisky  when  it  gets  into  a 
man's  head.  Joan  will  speak  for  me." 

Ten  minutes  later  Joan  was  in  Gobal's  cabin, 
guaranteeing  for  her  father  the  fulfillment  of  his 
bond.  An  hour  afterwards  the  Free-and-Easy 
was  moving  up  stream  with  her  splintered  masts 
and  ragged  sails,  and  the  Ninety-Nine  was  look- 
ing up  and  over  towards  the  Bay  of  Belle 
Amour.  She  reached  it  in  the  late  afternoon  of 
the  next  day.  Bissonnette  did  not  know  the 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine         145 

object  of  the  expedition,  but  he  had  caught  the 
spirit  of  the  affair,  and  his  eyes  were  like  spots 
of  fire  as  he  held  the  sheet  or  took  his  turn  at 
the  tiller.  Joan's  eyes  were  now  on  the  sky,  now 
on  the  sail,  and  now  on  the  land,  weighing  as 
wisely  as  her  father  the  advantage  of  the  wind, 
yet  dwelling  on  that  cave  where  skeletons  kept 
ward  over  the  spoils  of  a  pirate  ship. 

They  arrived,  and  Tarboe  took  the  Ninety- 
Nine  warily  in  on  a  little  wind  off  the  land.  He 
came  near  sharing  the  fate  of  Brigond,  for  the 
yawl  grazed  the  needle  of  the  rock  that,  hiding 
away  in  the  water,  with  a  nose  out  for  destruc- 
tion, awaits  its  victims.  They  reached  safe  an- 
chorage, but  by  the  time  they  landed  it  was 
night,  with,  however,  a  good  moon  showing. 

All  night  they  searched,  three  silent,  eager 
figures,  drawing  step  by  step  nearer  the  place 
where  the  ancient  enemy  of  man  was  barracked 
about  by  men's  bodies.  It  was  Joan,  who,  at 
last,  as  dawn  drew  up,  discovered  the  hollow  be- 
tween two  great  rocks  where  the  treasure  lay.  A 
few  minutes'  fierce  digging,  and  the  kegs  of  gold 
were  disclosed,  showing  through  the  ribs  of  two 
skeletons.  Joan  shrank  back,  but  the  two  men 
tossed  aside  the  rattling  bones,  and  presently  the 
kegs  were  standing  between  them  on  the  open 
shore.  Bissonnette's  eyes  were  hungry — he  knew 


146  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

now  the  wherefore  of  the  quest.  He  laughed 
outright,  a  silly,  loud,  hysterical  laugh.  Tarboe's 
eyes  shifted  from  the  sky  to  the  river,  from  the 
river  to  the  kegs,  from  the  kegs  to  Bissonette. 
On  him  they  stayed  a  moment.  Bissonette 
shrank  back.  Tarboe  was  feeling  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  the  deadly  suspicion  which  comes 
with  ill-gotten  wealth.  This  passed  as  his  eyes 
and  Joan's  met,  for  she  had  caught  the  melo- 
drama, the  overstrain.  Bissonnette's  laugh  had 
pointed  the  situation,  and  her  sense  of  humour 
had  prevailed.  "  La,  la,"  she  said,  with  a  whim- 
sical quirk  of  the  head,  and  no  apparent  relev- 
ancy : 

"  Lady-bird,  lady-bird,  fly  away  home, 
Your  house  is  on  fire,  and  your  children  all  gone." 

The  remedy  was  good.  Tarboe's  eyes  came 
again  to  their  natural  liveliness,  and  Bissonnette 
said: 

"  My  throat 's  like  a  piece  of  sandpaper." 
Tarboe  handed  over  a  brandy  flask,  after  tak- 
ing a  pull  himself,  and  then  sitting  down  on  one 
of  the  kegs,  he  said :  "  It  is  as  you  see,  and  now 
Angel  Point  very  quick.  To  get  it  there  safe, 
that 's  the  point !  "  Then,  scanning  the  sky 
closely :  "  It 's  for  a  handsome  day,  and  the 
wind  goes  to  bear  us  up  fine.  Good!  Well, 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        147 

for  you,  Bissonnette,  there  shall  be  a  thousand 
dollars;  you  shall  have  the  Belle  Chatelaine  Inn 
and  the  little  lady  at  Point  Pierrot.  For  the 
rest,  you  shall  keep  a  quiet  tongue,  eh  ?  If  not, 
my  Bissonnette,  we  shall  be  the  best  of  strangers, 
and  you  shall  not  be  happy.  Eh  ?" 

Bissonnette'seyes  flashed.  "  The  Belle  Chate- 
laine ?  Good  !  that  is  enough.  My  tongue  is 
tied  ;  I  cannot  speak ;  it  is  fastened  with  a  thous- 
and pegs." 

"  Very  good,  a  thousand  gold  pegs,  and  you 
shall  never  pull  them.  The  little  lady  will  have 
you  with  them,  not  without ;  and  unless  you 
stand  by  me,  no  one  will  have  you  at  any  price — 
by  God ! " 

He  stood  up,  but  Joan  put  out  her  hand. 
"You  have  been  speaking,  now  it  is  my  turn. 
Do  n't  cry  cook  until  you  have  your  ven'son 
home.  What  is  more,  I  gave  my  word  to  Gobal, 
and  I  will  keep  it.  I  will  be  captain.  No  talk- 
ing !  When  you  've  got  the  kegs  in  the  cellar  at 
Angel  Point,  good  !  But  now — come,  my  com- 
rades, I  am  your  captain." 

She  was  making  the  thing  a  cheerful  adven- 
ture, and  the  men  now  swung  the  kegs  on  their 
shoulders  and  carried  them  to  the  boat.  In 
another  half-hour  they  were  under  way  in  the 
gaudy  light  of  an  orange  sunrise,  a  simmering 


148          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

wind  from  the  sea  lifting  them  up  the  river,  and 
the  grey-red  coast  of  Labrador  shrinking  sul- 
lenly back. 

About  this  time,  also,  a  Government  cutter 
was  putting  out  from  under  the  mountain-wall 
at  Quebec,  its  officer  in  command  having  got 
renewed  orders  from  the  Minister  to  bring  in 
Tarboe  the  smuggler.  And  when  Mr.  Martin, 
the  inspector  in  command  of  the  expedition, 
was  ordered  to  take  with  him  Mr.  Orvay  Lafarge 
and  five  men,  "  effectively  armed,"  it  was  sup- 
posed by  the  romantic  Minister  that  the  matter 
was  as  good  as  done. 

What  Mr.  Orvay  Lafarge  did  when  he  got  the 

word  was  to  go  straight  to  his  hat-peg,  then  leave 

the  office,  walk  to  the  little  club  where  he  spent 

leisure  hours — called  office  hours  by  people  who 

wished  to  be  precise  as  well  as  suggestive — sit 

down,  and  raise  a  glass  to  his  lips.     After  which 

he  threw  himself  back    in  his   chair  and  said  : 

"  Well,  I'm  particularly  damned  !  " 

A  few  hours  later  they  were  away  on   their 

doubtful  exploit. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        149 

II.  THE  DEFENCE. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  she 
left  Labrador,  the  Ninety-Nine  came  rippling 
near  Isle  of  Fires,  not  sixty  miles  from  her  des- 
tination, catching  a  fair  wind  on  her  quarter  off 
the  land.  Tarboe  was  in  fine  spirits,  Joan  was 
as  full  of  song  as  a  canary,  and  Bissonnette  was 
as  busy  watching  her  as  in  keeping  the  nose  of 
the  Ninety-Nine  pointing  for  Cap  de  Gloire. 
Tarboe  was  giving  the  sail  full  to  the  wind,  and 
thinking  how  he  would  just  be  able  to  reach 
Angel  Point  and  get  his  treasure  housed  before 
mass  in  the  morning. 

Mass  !  How  many  times  had  he  laughed  as 
he  sat  in  church  and  heard  the  cure"  have  his 
gentle  fling  at  smuggling  !  To  think  that  the 
hidingplace  for  his  liquor  was  the  unused,  al- 
most unknown,  cellar  of  that  very  church,  built 
a  hundred  years  before  as  a  refuge  from  the 
Indians,  which  he  had  reached  by  digging  a 
tunnel  from  the  shore  to  its  secret  passage  ! 
That  was  why  the  customs  officers  never  found 
anything  at  Angel  Point,  and  that  was  why 
Tarboe  much  loved  going  to  mass.  He  some- 
times thought  he  could  catch  the  flavor  of  the 
brands  as  he  leaned  his  forehead  on  the  seat 
before  him.  But  this  time  he  would  go  to  mass 


150          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

with  a  fine  handful  of  those  gold  pieces  in  his 
pocket,  just  to  keep  him  in  a  commendable 
mood.  He  laughed  out  loud  at  the  thought  of 
doing  so  within  a  stone's  throw  of  a  fortune 
and  nose-shot  of  fifty  kegs  of  brandy. 

As  he  did  so,  Bissonnette  gave  a  little  cry. 
They  were  coming  on  to  Cap  de  Gloire  at  the 
moment,  and  Tarboe  and  Joan,  looking,  saw  a 
boat  standing  off  towards  the  mainland,  as  if 
waiting  for  them.  Tarboe  gave  a  roar,  and 
called  to  Joan  to  take  the  tiller.  He  snatched  a 
glass  and  levelled  it. 

"A  Government  tug!"  he  said,  "and,  by  the 
Holy  Mother,  there 's  your  tall  Lafarge  among 
'em,  Joan!  I  'd  know  him  by  his  height  miles  off." 

Joan  lost  colour  a  trifle  and  then  got  courage. 
"  Pshaw  !  "  she  said,  "what  does  he  want?" 

"  Want !  Want !  He  wants  the  Ninety-Nine 
and  her  cargo  ;  but  by  the  sun  of  my  soul,  he  '11 
get  her  across  the  devil's  gridiron  !  See  here, 
my  girl,  this  ain't  any  sport  with  you  aboard. 
Bissonnette  and  I  could  make  a  stand  for  it 
alone,  but  what's  to  become  of  you  ?  I  do  n't 
want  you  mixed  up  in  the  mess." 

The  girl  was  eyeing  the  Government  boat. 
"  But  I  'm  in  it,  and  I  can't  be  out  of  it,  and  I 
do  n't  want  to  be  out  now  that  I  am  in.  Let 
me  see  the  glass."  She  took  it  in  one  hand. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        151 

"  Yes,   it  must  be   M'sieu'   Lafarge,"  she  said, 
frowning.     "  He  might  have  stayed  out  of  this." 

"  When  he 's  got  orders,  he  has  to  go,"  an- 
swered her  father ;  "  but  he  must  look  out,  for  a 
gun  is  a  gun,  and  I  do  n't  pick  and  choose.  Be- 
sides, I  've  no  contraband  this  cruise,  and  I  '11 
let  no  one  stick  me  up." 

"There  are  six  or  seven  of  them,"  said  Joan 
debatingly. 

"Bring  her  up  to  the  wind,"  shouted  Tarboe 
to  Bissonnette.  The  mainsail  closed  up  several 
points,  the  Ninety-Nine  slackened  her  pace  and 
edged  in  closer  to  the  land.  "  Now,  my  girl," 
said  Tarboe,  "  this  is  how  it  stands  :  If  we  fight, 
there 's  some  one  sure  to  be  hurt,  and  if  I  'm  hurt 
where  '11  you  be?  " 

Bissonnette  interposed:  "We've  got  noth- 
ing contraband.  The  gold  is  ours." 

"  Trust  that  crew — but  no  !  "  cried  Tarboe, 
with  an  oath.  "  The  Government  would  hold 
the  rhino  for  possible  owners,  and  then  give  it 
to  a  convent  or  something.  They  shan't  put 
foot  here.  They  've  said  war,  and  they  '11  get  it! 
They're  signalling  us  to  stop,  and  they're  bear- 
ing down.  There  goes  a  shot !  " 

The  girl  had  been  watching  the  Government 
boat  coolly.  Now  that  it  began  to  bear  on  she 
answered  her  father's  question. 


152  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"Captain,"  she  said,  like  a  trusted  mate, 
"we'll  bluff  them."  Her  eyes  flashed  with  the 
intelligence  of  war.  "  Here,  quick,  I  '11  take  the 
tiller.  They  haven't  seen  Bissonnette  yet,  he 
sits  low.  Call  all  hands  on  deck — shout!  Then, 
see:  Loce  will  go  down  to  the  middle  hatch,  get 
a  gun,  come  up  with  it  on  his  shoulder,  and 
move  to  the  fo'castle.  Then  he  '11  drop  down 
the  fo'castle  hatch,  get  along  to  the  middle 
hatch,  and  come  up  again  with  the  gun,  now 
with  his  cap,  now  without  it,  now  with  his  coat, 
now  without  it.  He  '11  do  that  till  we  've  got 
twenty  or  thirty  men  on  deck.  They  '11  think 
we  've  been  laying  for  them,  and  they  '11  not 
come  on — you  see?" 

Tarboe  ripped  out  an  oath.  "It's  a  great 
game,"  he  said,  and  a  moment  afterwards,  in  re- 
sponse to  his  roars,  Bissonnette  came  up  the 
hatch  with  his  gun  showing  bravely;  then  again 
and  again,  now  with  his  cap,  now  without,  now 
with  his  coat,  now  with  none,  anon  with  a  tar- 
paulin over  his  shoulders  grotesquely.  Mean- 
while Tarboe  trained  his  one  solitary  little 
cannon  on  the  enemy,  roaring  his  men  into 
place. 

From  the  tug  it  seemed  that  a  large  and  well- 
armed  crew  were  ranging  behind  the  bulwarks 
of  the  Ninety-Nine.  Mr.  Martin,  the  inspector, 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        153 

saw  with  alarm  Bissonnette's  constantly  appear- 
ing rifle. 

"They've  arranged  a  plant  for  us,  Mr.  La- 
farge.  What  do  you  think  we  'd  better  do?"  he 
said. 

"  Fight !  "  answered  Lafarge  laconically.  He 
wished  to  put  himself  on  record,  for  he  was 
the  only  one  on  board  who  saw  through  the 
ruse. 

"  But  I  've  counted  at  least  twenty  men,  all 
armed,  and  we  've  only  five." 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  said  Lafarge  bluntly, 
angry  at  being  tricked,  but  inwardly  glad  to  be 
free  of  the  business,  for  he  pictured  to  himself 
that  girl  at  the  tiller — he  had  seen  her  as  she 
went  aft — in  a  police  court  at  Quebec.  Yet  his 
instinct  for  war  and  his  sense  of  duty  impelled 
him  to  say,  "  Still,  sir,  fight." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Lafarge,"  excitedly  said  his 
chief.  "I  cannot  risk  it.  We  must  go  back  for 
more  men  and  bring  along  a  Catling.  Slow 
down!  "  he  called. 

Lafarge  turned  on  his  heel  with  an  oath,  and 
stood  watching  the  Ninety-Nine. 

"She'll  laugh  at  me  till  I  die!  "  he  said  to 
himself  presently,  as  the  tug  turned  up  the 
stream  and  pointed  for  Quebec.  "  Well,  I  'm 
jiggered!"  he  added,  as  a  cannon  shot  came 


154          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

ringing  over  the  water  after  them.  He  was  cer- 
tain also  that  he  heard  loud  laughter.  No  doubt 
he  was  right;  for  as  the  tug  hurried  on,  Tarboe 
ran  to  Joan,  hugged  her  like  a  bear,  and  roared 
till  he  ached.  Then  she  paid  out  the  sheet,  they 
clapped  on  all  sail,  and  travelled  in  the  track  of 
the  enemy. 

Tarboe's  spirit  was  roused.  He  was  not  dis- 
posed to  let  his  enemy  off  on  even  such  terms, 
so  he  now  turned  to  Joan  and  said:  "  What  say 
you  to  a  chase  of  the  gentleman?" 

Joan  was  in  a  mood  for  such  a  dare-devil  ad- 
venture. For  three  people,  one  of  whom  was  a 
girl,  to  give  chase  to  a  well-manned,  well-armed 
Government  boat  was  too  good  a  relish  to  be 
missed.  Then,  too,  it  had  just  occurred  to  her 
that  a  parley  would  be  amusing,  particularly  if 
she  and  Lafarge  were  the  truce-bearers.  So  she 
said:  "  That  is  very  good." 

"  Suppose  they  should  turn  and  fight  ?  "  sug- 
gested Bissonnette. 

"  That 's  true — here 's  Joan,"  agreed  Tarboe. 

"But  see,"  said  Joan.  "If  we  chase  them 
and  call  upon  them  to  surrender — and  after  all, 
we  can  prove  that  we  had  nothing  contraband — 
what  a  splendid  game  it  '11  be  ! "  Mischief 
flickered  in  her  eyes. 

"Good!"     said     Tarboe.        "Tomorrow    I 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine         155 

shall  be  a  rich  man,  and  then  they  '11  not  dare  to 
come  again." 

So  saying,  he  gave  his  sail  to  the  wind,  and 
away  the  Ninety-Nine  went  after  the  one  ewe 
lamb  of  the  Government. 

Mr.  Martin  saw  her  coming,  and  gave  word 
for  all  steam.  It  would  be  a  pretty  game,  for 
the  wind  was  in  Tarboe's  favour,  and  the  gen- 
eral advantage  was  not  greatly  with  the  tug. 
Mr.  Martin  was  now  anxious  indeed  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  the  smuggler.  Lafarge  made 
one  restraining  effort,  then  settled  into  an  iron- 
ical mood.  Yet  a  half-dozen  times  he  was  in- 
clined to  blurt  out  to  Martin  what  he  believed 
was  the  truth.  A  man,  a  boy,  and  a  girl  to 
bluff  them  that  way  !  In  his  bones  he  felt  that 
it  was  the  girl  who  was  behind  this  thing.  Of 
one  matter  he  was  sure — they  had  no  contra- 
band stuff  on  board,  or  Tarboe  would  not  have 
brought  his  daughter  along.  He  could  not 
understand  their  attitude,  for  Tarboe  would 
scarcely  have  risked  the  thing  out  of  mere 
bravado.  Why  not  call  a  truce  ?  Perhaps  he 
could  solve  the  problem.  They  were  keeping  a 
tolerably  safe  distance  apart,  and  there  was  no 
great  danger  of  the  Ninety-Nine  overhauling 
them,  even  if  it  so  willed,  but  Mr.  Martin  did 
not  know  that. 


156          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

What  he  said  to  his  chief  had  its  effect,  and 
soon  there  was  a  white  flag  flying  on  the 
tug.  It  was  at  once  answered  with  a  white 
handkerchief  of  Joan's.  Then  the  tug  slowed 
up,  the  Ninety-Nine  came  on  gaily,  and  at  a 
good  distance  came  up  to  the  wind  and  stood 
off. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Tarboe  through 
his  speaking-tube. 

"  A  parley,"  called  Mr.  Martin. 

"  Good  ;  send  an  officer,"  answered  Tarboe. 

A  moment  after,  Lafarge  was  in  a  boat  row- 
ing over  to  meet  another  boat  rowed  by  Joan 
alone,  who,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  Bissonnette's, 
had  prevailed  on  her  father  to  let  her  go. 

The  two  boats  nearing  each  other,  Joan 
stood  up,  saluting,  and  Lafarge  did  the  same. 

"  Good-day,  m  'sieu',"  said  Joan,  with  as- 
sumed brusqueness,  mischief  lurking  about  her 
mouth.  "  What  do  you  want  ?" 

"Good-day,  monsieur;  I  did  not  expect  to 
confer  with  you." 

"M'sieu',"  said  Joan,  with  well-acted  dignity, 
"  if  you  prefer  to  confer  with  the  captain  or  Mr. 
Bissonette,  whom  I  believe  you  know  in  the 
matter  of  a  pail,  and — " 

"  No,  no ;  pardon  me,  monsieur,"  said  Lafarge 
more  eagerly  than  was  good  for  the  play,  "  I  am 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine         157 

glad  to  confer  with  you,  you  will  understand — 
you  will  understand — "     He  paused. 

"What  will  I  understand?" 

"You  will  understand  that  I  understand!" 
Lafarge  waved  meaningly  towards  the  Ninety- 
Nine,  but  it  had  no  effect  at  all.  Joan  would  not 
give  the  game  over  into  his  hands. 

"That  sounds  like  a  charade  or  a  puzzle 
game.  We  are  gentlemen  on  a  serious  errand, 
are  n't  we?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Lafarge,  "perfect  gentle- 
men on  a  perfectly  serious  errand!  " 

"Very  well,  m'sieu'.     Have  you  come  to  sur- 
render?" 

The  splendid  impudence  of  the  thing  stunned 
Lafarge,  but  he  said:  "I  suppose  one  or  the 
other  ought  to  surrender,  and  naturally,"  he 
added,  with  point,  "it  should  be  the  weaker." 

"Very  well.  Our  captain  is  willing  to  con- 
sider conditions.  You  came  down  on  us  to  take 
us — a  quiet  craft  sailing  in  free  waters.  You 
attack  us  without  cause.  We  summon  all  hands, 
and  you  run.  We  follow,  you  ask  for  truce.  It 
is  granted,  We  are  not  hard,  no!  We  only 
want  our  rights.  Admit  them;  we  '11  make  sur- 
render easy,  and  the  matter  is  over." 

Lafarge  gasped.  She  was  forcing  his  hand. 
She  would  not  understand  his  oblique  sugges- 


158          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

tions.  He  saw  only  one  way  now,  and  that  was 
to  meet  her,  boast  for  boast. 

"I  haven't  come  to  surrender,"  he  said, 
"but  to  demand." 

"  M'sieu',"  Joan  said  grandly,  "  there's  noth- 
ing more  to  say.  Carry  word  to  your  captain 
that  we  '11  overhaul  him  by  sundown,  and  sink 
him  before  supper." 

Lafarge  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well,  by  the  Lord,  but  you  're  a  swash- 
buckler, Joan — 

"M'sieu'—!" 

"  O,  nonsense!  I  tell  you,  nonsense!  Let's 
have  over  with  this,  my  girl.  You  're  the  clev- 
erest woman  on  the  continent,  but  there  's  a 
limit  to  everything.  Here,  tell  me  now,  and  if 
you  answer  me  straight  I  '11  say  no  more." 

"  M'sieu',  I  am  here  to  consider  conditions, 
not  to — " 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake,  Joan!  Tell  me  now, 
have  you  got  anything  contraband  on  board? 
There  '11  be  a  nasty  mess  about  the  thing,  for  me 
and  all  of  us,  and  why  can  't  we  compromise  ?  I 
tell  you  honestly  we'd  have  come  on  if  I  had  n't 
seen  you  aboard." 

Joan  turned  her  head  back  with  a  laugh. 
"  My  poor  m'sieu'  !  You  have  such  bad  luck. 
Contraband  ?  Let  me  see  ?  Liquors  and  wines 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        I  $9 

and   tobacco  are  contraband.     Is   it  not  so?" 
Lafarge  nodded. 

"Is  money — gold — contraband?" 

"  Money  ?  No  ;  of  course  not,  and  you  know 
it.  Why  won't  you  be  sensible  ?  You  're  get- 
ting me  into  a  bad  hole,  and " 

"  I  want  to  see  how  you  'II  come  out.     If  you 

come  out  well "     She  paused  quaintly. 

"Yes,  if  I  come  out  well ?" 

"  If  you  come  out  very  well,  and  we  do  not 
sink  you  before  supper,  I  may  ask  you  to  come 
and  see  me." 

"  H'm !  Is  that  all  ?  After  spoiling  my 
reputation,  I  'm  to  be  let  come  and  see  you." 

"  Is  n't  that  enough  to  start  with  ?  What  has 
spoiled  your  reputation  ?" 

"A  man,  a  boy  and  a  slip  of  a  girl."  He 
looked  meaningly  enough  at  her  now.  She 
laughed.  "  See,"  he  added,  "give  me  a  chance. 
Let  me  search  the  Ninety-Nine  for  contraband, 
that 's  all  I  have  got  to  do  with,  and  then  I  can 
keep  quiet  about  the  rest.  If  there  's  no  contra- 
band, whatever  else  there  is,  I  '11  hold  my  tongue." 

"  I  've  told  you  what  there  is." 

He  did  not  understand.  "  Will  you  let  me 
search  ?  " 

Joan's  eyes  flashed.  "  Once  and  for  all,  no, 
Orvay  Lafarge  !  I  am  the ;  daughter  of  a  man 


160          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

whom  you  and  your  men  would  have  killed  or 
put  in  the  dock.  He  's  been  a  smuggler,  and  I 
know  it.  Who  has  he  robbed  ?  Not  the  poor, 
not  the  needy,  but  a  rich  Government  that  robs 
also.  Well,  in  the  hour  when  he  ceases  to  be  a 
smuggler  for  ever,  armed  men  come  to  take  him. 
Why  did  n't  they  do  so  before  ?  Why  so  pious 
all  at  once  ?  No,  I  am  first  the  daughter  of  my 
father,  and  afterwards " 

"And  afterwards?" 

"  What  tomorrow  may  bring  forth." 

Lafarge  became  very  serious.  "I  must  go 
back.  Mr.  Martin  is  signalling,  and  your  father 
is  calling.  I  do  not  understand,  but  you  're  the 
one  woman  in  the  world  for  my  money,  and  I  'm 
ready  to  stand  by  that  and  leave  the  customs  to- 
morrow if  need  be." 

Joan's  eyes  blazed,  her  cheek  was  afire. 
"Leave  it  today.  Leave  it  now.  Yes;  that's 
my  one  condition.  If  you  want  me,  and  you  say 
you  do,  come  aboard  the  Ninety-Nine,  and  for 
today  be  one  of  us  —  tomorrow  what  you  will." 

"What  I  will  ?  What  I  will,  Joan  ?  Do  you 
mean  it?" 

"Yes.  Pshaw  !  Your  duty?  Don't  I  know 
how  the  Ministers  and  the  officers  have  done 
their  duty  at  Quebec  ?  It 's  all  nonsense.  You 
must  make  your  choice  once  for  all  now." 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine         161 

Lafarge  stood  a  moment  thinking.  "Joan, 
I  '11  do  it.  I  'd  go  hunting  in  hell  at  your  bid- 
ding. But  see.  Everything  's  changed.  I 
could  n't  fight  against  you,  but  I  can  fight  for 
you.  All  must  be  open  now.  You  've  said 
there  's  no  contraband.  Well,  I  '11  tell  Mr.  Mar- 
tin so,  but  I  '11  tell  him  also  that  you  've  only  a 
crew  of  two — " 

"Of  three,  now!" 

"  Of  three  !  I  will  do  my  duty  in  that,  then 
resign  and  come  over  to  you,  if  I  can." 

"  If  you  can  ?  You  mean  that  they  may  fire 
on  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  't  tell  what  they  may  do.  But  I  must 
deal  fair." 

Joan's  face  was  grave.  "Very  well,  I  will 
wait  for  you  here." 

"  They  might  hit  you." 

"  But  no.  They  can  't  hit  a  wall.  Go  on,  my 
dear." 

They  saluted,  and,  as  Lafarge  turned  away, 
Joan  said,  with  a  little  mocking  laugh,  "Tell 
him  that  he  must  surrender,  or  we  '11  sink  him 
before  supper." 

Lafarge  nodded,  and  drew  away  quickly  to- 
wards the  tug.  His  interview  with  Mr.  Martin 
was  brief,  and  he  had  tendered  his  resignation, 
though  it  was  disgracefully  informal,  and  was 


102          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

over  the  side  of  the  boat  again  and  rowing 
quickly  away  before  his  chief  recovered  his 
breath.  Then  Mr.  Martin  got  a  large  courage. 
He  called  to  his  men  to  fire  when  Lafarge  was 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  from  the  tug. 
The  shots  rattled  about  him.  He  turned  round 
coolly  and  called  out,  "  Coward — we  '11  sink  you 
before  supper  I " 

A  minute  afterwards  there  came  another  shot, 
and  an  oar  dropped  from  his  hand.  But  now 
Joan  was  rowing  rapidly  towards  him,  and  pres- 
ently was  alongside. 

"  Quick,  jump  in  here,"  she  said.  He  did  so, 
and  she  rowed  on  quickly.  Tarboe  did  not  un- 
derstand, but  now  his  blood  was  up,  and  as 
another  volley  sent  bullets  dropping  around  the 
two  he  gave  the  Ninety-Nine  to  the  wind,  and 
she  came  bearing  down  smartly  to  them.  In  a 
few  moments  they  were  safely  on  board,  and 
Joan  explained.  Tarboe  grasped  Lafarge's  un- 
maimed  hand — the  other  Joan  was  caring  for — 
and  swore  that  fighting  was  the  only  thing  left 
now. 

Mr.  Martin  had  said  the  same,  but  when  he 
saw  the  Ninety-Nine  determined,  menacing,  and 
coming  on,  he  became  again  uncertain,  and 
presently  gave  orders  to  make  for  the  lighthouse 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  He  could  get 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine        163 

over  first,  for  the  Ninety-Nine  would  not  have 
the  wind  so  much  in  her  favor,  and  there  en- 
trench himself,  for  even  yet  Bissonnette  amply 
multiplied  was  in  his  mind, — Lafarge  had  not 
explained  that  away.  He  was  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  some  sunken  rocks  of  which  he  and  his 
man  at  the  wheel  did  not  know  accurately,  and 
in  making  what  he  thought  was  a  clear  channel 
he  took  a  rock  with  great  force,  for  they  were 
going  full  steam  ahead.  Then  came  confusion, 
and  in  getting  out  the  one  boat  it  was  swamped 
and  a  man  nearly  drowned.  Meanwhile  the  tug 
was  fast  sinking. 

While  they  were  throwing  off  their  clothes, 
the  Ninety-nine  came  down,  and  stood  off.  On 
one  hand  was  the  enemy,  on  the  other  the  water, 
with  the  shore  half  a  mile  distant. 

"  Do  you  surrender?  "  called  out  Tarboe. 

"  Can't  we  come  aboard  without  that?"  feebly 
urged  Mr.  Martin. 

"  I  '11  see  you  damned  first,  Mr.  Martin. 
Come  quick,  or  I  '11  give  you  what  for." 

"  We  surrender,"  answered  the  officer  gently. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  and  his  men  were  on 
board,  with  their  rifles  stacked  in  a  corner  at 
Bissonnette's  hand. 

Then  Tarboe  brought  the  Ninety-Nine  close 
to  the  wreck,  and  with  his  little  cannon  put  a 


164          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

ball  into  her.  This  was  the  finish.  She  shook 
her  nose,  shivered,  shot  down  like  a  duck,  and 
was  gone. 

Mr.  Martin  was  sad  even  to  tears. 

"Now,  my  beauties,"  said  Tarboe,  "now  that 
I  've  got  you  safe,  I  '11  show  you  the  kind  of 
cargo  I  've  got." 

A  moment  afterwards  he  hoisted  a  keg  on 
deck.  "  Think  that 's  whisky  ? "  he  asked. 
"Lift  it,  Mr.  Martin."  Mr.  Martin  obeyed. 
"Shake  it,"  he  added.  Mr.  Martin  did  so. 
"  Open  it,  Mr.  Martin."  He  held  out  a  hatchet- 
hammer.  The  next  moment  a  mass  of  gold 
pieces  yellowed  to  their  eyes.  Mr.  Martin  fell 
back,  breathing  hard. 

"Is  that  contraband,  Mr.  Martin?" 

"  Treasure-trove,"  humbly  answered  the 
stricken  officer. 

"  That 's  it,  and  in  a  month,  Mr.  Martin,  I  '11 
be  asking  the  chief  of  your  department  to  din- 
ner." 

Meanwhile  Lafarge  saw  how  near  he  had  been 
to  losing  a  wife  and  a  fortune.  Arrived  off  Isle 
of  Days,  Tarboe  told  Mr.  Martin  and  his  men 
that  if  they  said  "  treasure-trove  "  till  they  left 
the  island  their  lives  would  not  be  worth  "a 
tinker's  damn."  When  they  had  sworn,  he  took 
them  to  Angel  Point,  fed  them  royally,  gave 


The  Cruise  of  the  Ninety-Nine         165 

them  excellent  liquor  to  drink,  and  sent  them  in 
a  fishing-smack  with  Bissonnette  to  Quebec, 
where  arriving,  they  told  strange  tales. 

Bissonnette  bore  a  letter  to  a  certain  banker 
in  Quebec,  who  already  had  done  business  with 
Tarboe,  and  next  midnight  Tarboe  himself,  with 
Gobal,  Lafarge,  Bissonnette,  and  another,  came 
knocking  at  the  banker's  door,  each  carrying  a 
keg  on  his  shoulder,  and  armed  to  the  teeth. 
And,  what  was  singular,  two  stalwart  police-offi- 
cers walked  behind  with  comfortable  and  ap- 
proving looks. 

A  month  afterwards  Lafarge  and  Joan  were 
married  at  the  parish  church  at  Isle  of  Days,  and 
it  was  said  that  Mr.  Martin,  who,  for  some 
strange  reason,  was  allowed  to  retain  his  position 
in  the  customs,  sent  a  present.  The  wedding 
ended  with  a  sensation,  for  just  as  the  benedic- 
tion was  pronounced  a  loud  report  was  heard 
beneath  the  floor  of  the  church.  There  was  a 
great  commotion,  but  Tarboe  whispered  in  the 
curb's  ear,  and  he,  blushing,  announced  that  it 
was  the  bursting  of  a  barrel.  A  few  minutes 
afterwards  the  people  of  the  parish  knew  the  old 
hidingplace  of  Tarboe's  contraband,  and,  though 
the  cure"  rebuked  them,  they  roared  with  laugh- 
ter at  the  knowledge. 

"  So  droll,  so  droll,  our  Tarboe  there  !  "  they 


1 66          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

shouted,  for  already  they  began  to  look  upon 
him  as  their  seigneur. 

In  time  the  cur£  forgave  him  also. 

Tarboe  seldom  left  Isle  of  Days,  save  when 
he  went  to  visit  his  daughter  in  St.  Louis  street, 
Quebec,  not  far  from  the  Parliament  House, 
where  Orvay  Lafarge  is  a  member  of  the  Minis- 
try. The  ex-smuggler  was  a  member  of  the 
Assembly  for  three  months,  but  after  defeating 
his  own  party  on  a  question  of  tariff,  he  gave  a 
portrait  of  himself  to  the  Chamber  and  threw 
his  seat  into  the  hands  of  his  son-in-law.  At  the 
Belle  Chatelaine,  where  he  often  goes,  he  some- 
times asks  Bissonnette  to  play  "  The  Demoiselle 
with  the  Scarlet  Hose." 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows 

I 

When  old  Throng  the  trader,  trembling  with 
sickness  and  misery,  got  on  his  knees  to  Cap- 
tain Halby  and  groaned,  "She  didn't  want  to 
go ;  they  dragged  her  off ;  you  '11  fetch  her 
back,  won't  ye  ? — she  always  had  a  fancy  for 
you,  cap'n,"  Pierre  shrugged  a  shoulder  and 
said: 

"  But  you  stole  her  when  she  was  in  her 
rock-a-by,  my  Throng, — you  and  your  Man- 
ette." 

"Like  a  match  she  was — no  bigger,"  con- 
tinued the  old  man.  "  Lord,  how  that  step- 
mother bully-ragged  her,  and  her  father  did  n't 
care  a  darn.  He  'd  half  a  dozen  others — Man- 
ette  and  me  had  n't  none.  We  took  her  and 
used  her  like  as  if  she  was  an  angel,  and  we 
brought  her  off  up  here.  Have  n't  we  set 
store  by  her  ?  Was  n't  it  'cause  we  was  lonely 
an'  loved  her  we  took  her  ?  Has  n't  everybody 
stood  up  and  said  there  was  n't  anyone  like  her 
in  the  north  ?  Ain't  I  done  fair  by  her  always 
167 


1 68          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

— ain't  I  ?  An'  now,  when  this  cough  's  eatin' 
my  life  out,  and  Manette  's  gone,  and  there  ain't 
a  soul  but  Due  the  trapper  to  put  a  blister  on 
to  me,  them  brutes  ride  up  from  over  the  bor- 
der, call  theirselves  her  brothers,  an'  drag  her 
off!" 

He  was  still  on  his  knees.  Pierre  reached 
over  and  lightly  kicked  a  moccasined  foot. 

"Get  up,  Jim  Throng,"  he  said.  "  Holy  !  do 
you  think  the  law  moves  because  an  old  man 
cries  ?  Is  it  in  the  statutes  ? — that 's  what  the 
law  says.  Does  it  come  within  the  act  ?  Is  it 
a  trespass  ? — an  assault  and  battery  ? — a  breach 
of  the  peace  ? — a  misdemeanor  ?  Victoria — 
So  and  So:  that's  how  the  law  talks.  Get  on 
your  knees  to  Father  Corraine,  not  to  Captain 
Halby,  Jimmy  Throng  !  " 

Pierre  spoke  in  a  half-sinister,  ironical  way, 
for  between  him  and  Captain  Halby's  Riders  of 
the  Plains  there  was  no  good  feeling.  More 
than  once  he  had  come  into  conflict  with  them 
— more  than  once  had  they  laid  their  hands  on 
him — and  taken  them  off  again  in  due  time. 
He  had  foiled  them  as  to  men  they  wanted  ;  he 
had  defied  them — but  he  had  helped  them,  too, 
when  it  seemed  right  to  him  ;  he  had  sided 
with  them  once  or  twice  when  to  do  so  was 
perilous  to  himself.  He  had  sneered  at  them, 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  169 

he  did  not  like  them,  nor  they  him.  The  sum 
of  it  was,  he  thought  them  brave — and  stupid  ; 
and  he  knew  that  the  law  erred  as  often  as  it 
set  things  right. 

The  trader  got  up  and  stood  between  the 
two  men,  coughing  much,  his  face  straining, 
his  eyes  bloodshot,  as  he  looked  anxiously  from 
Pierre  to  Halby.  He  was  the  sad  wreck  of  a 
strong  man.  Nothing  looked  strong  about  him 
now  save  his  head,  which,  with  its  long  grey 
hair,  seemed  badly  balanced  by  the  thin  neck, 
through  which  the  terrible  cough  was  hacking. 

"Only  half  a  lung  left,"  he  stammered,  as 
soon  as  he  could  speak,  "an'  Due  can't  fix  the 
boneset,  camomile,  and  whiskey  as  she  could. 
An'  he  waters  the  whiskey — curse  —  his — soul !" 
The  last  three  words  were  spoken  through 
another  spasm  of  coughing.  "An'  the  blister — 
how  he  mucks  the  blister!" 

Pierre  sat  back  on  the  table,  laughing  noise- 
lessly, his  white  teeth  shining.  Halby,  with 
one  foot  on  a  bench,  was  picking  at  the  fur  on 
his  sleeve  thoughtfully.  His  face  was  a  little 
drawn,  his  lips  were  tight-pressed,  and  his  eyes 
had  a  light  of  excitement.  Presently  he 
straightened  himself,  and  after  a  half-malicious 
look  at  Pierre,  he  said  to  Throng : 

"Where  are  they,  do  you  say?" 


170          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"They're  at" — the  old  man  coughed  hard 
—  "at  Fort  O'Battle." 

"What  are  they  doing  there?" 

"Waitin'  till  spring,  when  they  '11  fetch  their 
cattle  up  an'  settle  there." 

"They  want  —  Lydia — to  keep  house  for 
them?" 

The  old  man  writhed. 

"Yes,  God's  sake,  that's  it!  An'  they  want 
Liddy  to  marry  a  devil  called  Borotte,  with  a 
thousand  cattle  or  so — Pi  to  the  courier  told  me 
yesterday.  Pito  saw  her,  an'  he  said  she  was 
white  like  a  sheet,  an'  called  out  to  him  as  he 
went  by.  Only  half  a  lung  I  got,  an'  her 
boneset  and  camomile  'd  save  it  for  a  bit, 
mebbe  —  mebbe ! " 

"It's  clear,"  said  Halby,  "that  they  tres- 
passed, and  they  have  n't  proved  their  right  to 
her." 

"Tonnerre!  what  a  thinker!"  said  Pierre, 
mocking. 

Halby  did  not  notice.  His  was  a  solid  sense 
of  responsibility. 

"She  is  of  age?"  he  half  asked,  half  mused. 

"She's  twenty-one,"  answered  the  old  man, 
with  difficulty. 

"Old  enough  to  set  the  world  right,"  sug- 
gested Pierre,  still  mocking. 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  171 

"She  was  forced  away,  she  regarded  you  as 
her  natural  protector,  she  believed  you  her 
father :  they  broke  the  law,"  said  the  soldier. 

"There  was  Moses,  and  Solomon,  and  Caesar, 
and  Socrates,  and  now  .  .  .  !"  murmured 
Pierre  in  assumed  abstraction. 

A  red  spot  burned  on  Halby's  high  cheek- 
bone for  a  minute,  but  he  persistently  kept  his 
temper. 

"I'm  expected  elsewhere,"  he  said  at  last. 
"I  'm  only  one  man,  I  wish  I  could  go  today — 
even  alone.  But — " 

"  But  you  have  a  heart,"  said  Pierre.  "  How 
wonderful — a  heart!  And  there 's  the  half  a 
lung,  and  the  boneset  and  camomile  tea,  and  the 
blister,  and  the  girl  with  an  eye  like  a  spot  of 
rainbow,  and  the  sacred  law  in  a  Remington 
rifle!  Well,  well  !  And  to  do  it  in  the  early 
morning — to  wait  in  the  shelter  of  the  trees  till 
some  go  to  look  after  the  horses,  then  enter  the 
house,  arrest  those  inside,  and  lay  low  for  the 
rest." 

Halby  looked  over  at  Pierre  astonished. 
Here  was  raillery  and  good  advice  all  in  a  piece. 

"It  isn't  wise  to  go  alone,  for  if  there's 
trouble  and  I  should  go  down,  who  's  to  tell  the 
truth?  Two  could  do  it;  but  one — no,  it  isn't 
wise,  though  it  would  look  smart  enough." 


172          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"Who  said  to  go  alone?"  asked  Pierre, 
scrawling  on  the  table  with  a  burnt  match. 

"  I  have  no  men." 

Pierre  looked  up  at  the  wall. 

"Throng  has  a  good  Snider  there,"  he  said. 

"  Bosh!     Throng  can't  go." 

The  old  man  coughed  and  strained. 

"If  it  was  n't — only — half  a  lung,  and  I  could 
carry  the  boneset  'long  with  us. — " 

Pierre  slid  off  the  table,  came  to  the  old  man, 
and  taking  him  by  the  arms,  pushed  him  gently 
into  a  chair. 

"  Sit  down;  do  n't  be  a  fool,  Jimmy  Throng," 
he  "aid.  Then  he  turned  to  Halby:  "You're 
a  magistrate — make  me  a  special  constable;  I  '11 
go,  m'sieu'  le  capitaine — of  no  company." 

Halby  stared.  He  knew  Pierre's  bravery,  his 
ingenuity  and  daring.  But  this  was  the  last 
thing  he  expected:  that  the  malicious,  railing 
little  half-breed  would  work  with  him  and  the 
law.  Pierre  seemed  to  understand  his  thoughts, 
for  he  said:  "  It  is  not  for  you.  I  am  sick  for 
adventure,  and  then  there  is  mademoiselle — such 
a  finger  she  has  for  a  ven'son  pudding." 

Without  a  word  Halby  wrote  on  a  leaf  in  his 
notebook,  and  presently  handed  the  slip  to 
Pierre.  "  That 's  your  commission  as  a  special 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  173 

constable,"  he  said,  "and  here  's  the  seal  on  it." 
He  handed  over  a  pistol. 

Pierre  raised  his  eyebrows  at  it,  but  Halby 
continued:  "  It  has  the  Government  mark.  But 
you  'd  better  bring  Throng's  rifle,  too." 

Throng  sat  staring  at  the  two  men,  his  hands 
nervously  shifting  on  his  knees.  "TellLiddy," 
he  said,  "  that  the  last  batch  of  bread  was  sour — • 
Due  ain't  no  good — an'  that  I  ain't  had  no  relish 
sence  she  left.  Tell  her  the  cough  gits  lower 
down  all  the  time.  'Member  when  she  tended 
that  felon  o'  yourn,  Pierre?" 

Pierre  looked  at  a  scar  on  his  finger  and  nod- 
ded: "She  cut  it  too  young  ;  but  she  had  the 
nerve!  When  do  you  start,  Captain?  It's  an 
eighty-mile  ride." 

"At  once,"  was  the  reply.  "We  can  sleep 
to-night  in  the  Jim-a-long-Jo  "  (a  hut  which  the 
Company  had  built  between  two  distant  posts), 
"  and  get  there  at  dawn  day  after  tomorrow. 
The  snow  is  light  and  we  can  travel  quick.  I 
have  a  good  horse,  and  you  — " 

"  I  have  my  black  Tophet.  He  '11  travel  with 
your  roan  as  on  one  snaffle-bar.  That  roan  — 
you  know  where  he  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  Dolright  stud,  over  the  border." 

"  That 's  wrong.     He  come  from  Greystop's 


174          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

paddock,  where  my  Tophet  was  foaled;  they 
are  brothers.  Yours  was  stole  and  sold  to  the 
Gover'ment;  mine  was  bought  by  good  hard 
money.  The  law  the  keeper  of  stolen  goods, 
eh  ?  But  these  two  will  go  cinch  to  cinch  all 
the  way,  like  two  brothers  —  like  you  and  me." 

He  could  not  help  the  touch  of  irony  in  his 
last  words;  he  saw  the  amusing  side  of  things, 
and  all  humour  in  him  had  a  strain  of  the  sar- 
donic. 

"  Brothers-in-law  for  a  day  or  two,"  answered 
Halby  drily. 

Within  two  hours  they  were  ready  to  start. 
Pierre  had  charged  Due  the  incompetent  upon 
matters  for  the  old  man's  comfort,  and  had  him- 
self, with  a  curious  sort  of  kindness,  steeped  the 
boneset  and  camomile  in  whisky,  and  set  a  cup 
of  it  near  his  chair.  Then  he  had  gone  up  to 
Throng's  bedroom  and  straightened  out  and 
shook  and  "  made "  the  corn-husk  bed,  which 
had  gathered  into  lumps  and  rolls. 

Before  he  came  down  he  opened  a  door  near 
by  and  entered  another  room,  shutting  the  door, 
and  sitting  down  on  a  chair.  A  stove-pipe 
ran  through  the  room,  and  it  was  warm, 
though  the  window  was  frosted  and  the  world 
seemed  shut  out.  He  looked  round  slowly, 
keenly,  interested.  There  was  a  dressing-table 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  1 75 

made  of  an  old  box ;  it  was  covered  with  pink 
calico,  and  muslin  over  this.  A  cheap  looking- 
glass  on  it  was  draped  with  muslin  and  tied  at 
the  top  with  a  bit  of  pink  ribbon.  A  common 
bone  comb  lay  near  the  glass,  and,  beside  it,  a 
beautiful  brush  with  an  ivory  back  and  handle. 
This  was  the  only  expensive  thing  in  the  room. 
He  wondered,  but  did  not  go  near  it — yet. 

There  was  a  little  eight-day  clock  on  a 
bracket  which  had  been  made  by  hand — paste- 
board darkened  with  umber  and  varnished ;  a 
tiny  little  set  of  shelves  made  of  the  wood  of 
cigar-boxes;  and — alas!  the  shifts  of  poverty 
to  be  gay ! — an  easy-chair  made  of  the  staves  of 
a  barrel  and  covered  with  poor  chintz.  Then 
there  was  a  photograph  or  two  in  little  frames 
made  from  the  red  cedar  of  cigar-boxes,  with 
decorations  of  putty,  varnished,  and  a  long 
panel  screen  of  birch-bark  of  Indian  workman- 
ship. Some  dresses  hung  behind  the  door. 
The  bedstead  was  small,  the  frame  was  of  hick- 
ory, with  no  footboard,  ropes  making  the  sup- 
port for  the  husk  tick.  Across  the  foot  lay  a 
bedgown  and  a  pair  of  stockings. 

Pierre  looked  long,  at  first  curiously  ;  but 
after  a  little  his  forehead  gathered  and  his  lips 
drew  in  a  little,  as  if  he  had  a  twinge  of  pain. 
He  got  up,  went  over  near  the  bed,  and  picked 


176  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

up  a  hairpin.  Then  he  came  back  to  the  chair 
and  sat  down,  turning  it  about  in  his  fingers, 
still  looking  abstractedly  at  the  floor. 

"Poor  Lucy ! "  he  said  presently  ;  "  the  poor 
child  !  Ah  !  what  a  devil  I  was  then  —  so  long 
ago  !  " 

This  solitary  room  —  Lydia's  —  had  brought 
back  the  time  he  went  to  the  room  of  his  own 
wife,  dead  by  her  own  hand,  after  an  attempt  to 
readjust  the  broken  pieces  of  life,  and  sat  and 
looked  at  the  place  which  had  been  hers,  remem- 
bering how  he  had  left  her  with  her  wet  face 
turned  to  the  wall,  and  never  saw  her  again  till 
she  was  set  free  forever.  Since  that  time  he  had 
never  sat  in  a  room  sacred  to  a  woman  alone. 

"What  a  fool,  what  a  fool,  to  think  !"  he  said 
at  last,  standing  up;  "but  this  girl  must  be 
saved.  She  must  have  her  home  here  again." 

Unconsciously  he  put  the  hairpin  in  his 
pocket,  walked  over  to  the  dressing-table  and 
picked  up  the  hair  brush.  On  its  back  was  the 
legend,  "  L.  T,  from  C.  H.  "  He  gave  a  whistle. 

"So  — so?"  he  said,  "« C.  H.'  M'sieu'  le 
capitaine,  is  it  like  that  ?  " 

A  year  before,  Lydia  had  given  Captain 
Halby  a  dollar  to  buy  her  a  hair-brush  at  Winni- 
peg, and  he  had  brought  her  one  worth  ten 
dollars.  She  had  beautiful  hair,  and  what  pride 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows 

she  had  in  using  this  brush  !  Every  Sunday 
morning  she  spent  a  long  time  in  washing,  curl- 
ing, and  brushing  her  hair,  and  every  night  she 
tended  it  lovingly,  so  that  it  was  a  splendid  rich 
brown  like  her  eye,  coiling  nobly  above  her 
plain,  strong  face,  with  its  good  color. 

Pierre,  glancing  in  the  glass,  saw  Captain 
Halby's  face  looking  over  his  shoulder.  It 
startled  him,  and  he  turned  round.  There  was 
the  face  looking  out  from  a  photograph  that 
hung  on  the  wall  in  the  recess  where  the  bed  was. 
He  noted  now  that  the  likeness  hung  where  the 
girl  could  see  it  the  last  thing  at  night  and  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning. 

"  So  far  as  that,  eh  !  "  he  said.  "  And  m'sieu' 
is  a  gentleman,  too.  We  shall  see  what  he  will 
do.  He  has  his  chance  now  once  for  all." 

He  turned,  came  to  the  door,  softly  opened 
it,  passed  out  and  shut  it,  then  descended  the 
stairs,  and  in  half  an  hour  was  at  the  door  with 
Captain  Halby,  ready  to  start.  It  was  an  exqui- 
site winter  day,  even  in  its  bitter  coldness.  The 
sun  was  shining  clear  and  strong,  all  the  plains 
glistened  and  looked  like  quicksilver,  and  the 
vast  blue  cup  of  sky  seemed  deeper  than  it  had 
ever  been.  But  the  frost  ate  the  skin  like  an 
acid,  and  when  Throng  came  to  the  door  Pierre 
drove  him  back  instantly  from  the  air. 


178  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"  I  only — wanted — to  say — to  Liddy,"  hacked 
the  old  man,  "that  I'm  thinkin' — a  little 
m'lasses'd  kinder  help — the  boneset  an'  camo- 
mile. Tell  her  that  the  cattle  '11  all  be  hers — 
an* — the  house,  an'  I  ain't  got  no  one  but — " 

But  Pierre  pushed  him  back  and  shut  the 
door,  saying  :  "  I  '11  tell  her  what  a  fool  you  are 
Jimmy  Throng." 

The  old  man,  as  he  sat  down  awkwardly  in 
his  chair,  with  Due  stolidly  lighting  his  pipe  and 
watching  him,  said  to  himself :  "  Yes,  I  be  a 
durn  fool;  I  be,  I  be!"  over  and  over  again. 
And  when  the  dog  got  up  from  near  the  stove 
and  came  near  to  him,  he  added  :  "I  be,  Touser; 
I  be  a  durn  fool,  for  I  ought  to  ha'  stole  two  or 
three,  an'  then  I  'd  not  be  alone,  an'  nothin'  but 
sour  bread  an'  pork  to  eat.  I  ought  to  ha'  stole 
three." 

"  Ah,  Manette  ought  to  have  give  you  some 
of  your  own,  it 's  true,  that ! "  said  Due  stolidly. 
"You  never  was  a  real  father,  Jim." 

"  Liddy  got  to  look  like  me ;  she  got  to  look 
like  Manette  and  me,  I  tell  ye ! "  said  the  old 
man  hoarsely. 

Due  laughed  in  his  stupid  way.  "  Look  like 
you !  Look  like  you,  Jim,  with  a  face  to  turn 
milk  sour!  Ho,  ho!" 

Throng  rose,  his  face  purple  with  anger,  and 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  179 

made  as  if  to  catch  Due  by  the  throat,  but  a  fit 
of  coughing  seized  him,  and  presently  blood 
showed  on  his  lips.  Due  with  a  rough  gentle- 
ness wiped  off  the  blood  and  put  the  whisky  and 
herbs  to  the  sick  man's  lips,  saying  in  a  fatherly 
way: 

"  For  why  you  do  like  that  ?  You  're  a  fool, 
Jimmy !" 

"  I  be,  I  be,"  said  the  old  man  in  a  whisper, 
and  let  his  hand  rest  on  Due's  shoulder. 

"  I  '11  fix  the  bread  sweet  next  time,  Jimmy." 
"  No,   no,"  said  the  husky  voice  peevishly. 
"  She  '11  do  it— Liddy  '11  do  it.     Liddy's  corn- 
in'." 

"  All  right,  Jimmy  !     All  right !  " 
After  a  moment  Throng  shook  his  head  feebly 
and  said,  scarcely  above  a  whisper  : 

"  But  I  be  a  durn  fool — when  she  's  not  here." 
Due  nodded  and  gave  him  more  whisky  and 
herbs. 

"  My  feet 's  cold,"  said  the  old  man,  and  Due 
wrapped  a  bearskin  round  his  legs. 

II 

For  miles  Pierre  and  Halby  rode  without  a 
word.  Then  they  got  down  and  walked  for  a 
couple  of  miles,  to  bring  the  blood  into  their 
legs  again. 


l8o  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"The  old  man  goes  to  By-by  bientot"  said 
Pierre  at  last. 

"You  do  n't  think  he'll  last  long?  " 

"  Maybe  ten  days;  maybe  one.  If  we  do  n't 
get  the  girl,  out  goes  his  torchlight  straight." 

"  She 's  been  very  good  to  him." 

"  He's  been  on  his  knees  to  her  all  her  life." 

"  There'll  be  trouble  out  of  this." 

"Pshaw!     The  girl  is  her  own  master." 

"I  mean  some  one  will  probably  get  hurt  over 
there."  He  nodded  in  the  direction  of  Fort 
O'Battle. 

"  That 's  in  the  game.  The  girl  is  worth 
fighting  for,  eh?" 

"  Of  course,  and  the  law  must  protect  her. 
It 's  a  free  country." 

"So  true,  my  captain,"  murmured  Pierre  drily. 
"  It  is  wonderful  what  a  man  will  do  for  the  law." 

The  tone  struck  Halby.  Pierre  was  scanning 
the  horizon  abstractedly. 

"  You  are  always  hitting  at  the  law,"  he  said. 
"  Why  do  you  stand  by  it  now?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason  as  yourself." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  She  has  your  picture  in  her  room,  she  has 
my  lucky  dollar  in  her  pocket." 

Halby's  face  flushed,  and  then  he  turned  and 
looked  steadily  into  Pierre's  eyes. 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  181 

"  We'd  better  settle  this  thing  at  once.  If 
you  're  going  to  Fort  O'Battle  because  you  've 
set  your  fancy  there,  you'd  better  go  back  now. 
That's  straight.  You  and  I  can't  sail  in  the 
same  boat.  I'll  go  alone:  so  give  me  the  pistol." 

Pierre  laughed  softly,  and  waved  the  hand 
back. 

"T'sh!  What  a  high-cock-a-lorum!  You 
want  to  do  it  all  yourself — to  fill  the  eye  of  the 
girl  alone,  and  be  tucked  away  to  By-by  for  your 
pains — mats,  quelle  folie!  See:  you  go  for  law 
and  love;  I  go  for  fun  and  Jimmy  Throng.  The 
girl!  Pshaw!  she  would  come  out  right  in  the 
end,  without  you  or  me.  But  the  old  man  with 
half  a  lung — that's  different.  He  must  have 
sweet  bread  in  his  belly  when  he  dies,  and  the 
girl  must  make  it  for  him.  She  shall  brush  her 
hair  with  the  ivory  brush  by  Sunday  morning." 

Halby  turned  sharply. 

"You've  been  spying!"  he  said.  "You've 
been  in  her  room — you — " 

Pierre  put  out  his  hand  and  stopped  the  word 
on  Halby's  lips. 

"  Slow,  slow,"  he  said;  "  we  are  both — police 
today.  Voila.'  we  must  not  fight.  There  is 
Throng  and  the  girl  to  think  of."  Suddenly, 
with  a  soft  fierceness,  he  added:  "  If  I  looked  in 
her  room,  what  of  that?  In  all  the  north  is 


1 82          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

there  a  woman  to  say  I  wrong  her?  No!  Well, 
what  if  I  carry  her  room  in  my  eye;  does  that 
hurt  her  or  you?" 

Perhaps  something  of  the  loneliness  of  the 
outlaw  crept  into  Pierre's  voice  for  an  instant, 
for  Halby  suddenly  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  said  :  "  Let 's  drop  the  thing,  Pierre." 

Pierre  looked  at  him  musingly. 

"  When  Throng  is  put  to  By-by  what  will  you 
do  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  will  marry  her,  if  she  '11  have  me." 

"  But  she  is  prairie-born,  and  you  !  " 

"  I  'm  a  prairie-rider." 

After  a  moment  Pierre  said,  as  if  to  himself : 
"  So  quiet  and  clean,  and  the  print  calico  and 
muslin,  and  the  ivory  brush  ! " 

It  is  hard  to  say  whether  he  was  merely 
working  on  Halby  that  he  be  true  to  the  girl,  or 
was  himself  soft-hearted  for  the  moment.  He 
had  a  curious  store  of  legend  and  chanson,  and 
he  had  the  Frenchman's  power  of  applying 
them,  though  he  did  it  seldom.  But  now  he 
said  in  a  half  monotone: 

"Have  you  seen  the  way  I  have  built  my  nest  ? 
(O  brave  and  tall  is  the  Grand  Seigneur/) 
I  have  trailed  the  East,  I  have  searched  the  West, 

(O  clear  of  eye  is  the  Grand  Seigneur!) 
From  South  and  North  I  have  brought  the  best: 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  183 

The  feathers  fine  from  an  eagle's  crest, 
The  silken  threads  from  a  prince's  vest, 
The  warm  rose-leaf  from  a  maiden's  breast — 
(0  long  he  bideth,  the  Grand  Seigneur)" 

They  had  gone  scarce  a  mile  farther  when 
Pierre,  chancing  to  turn  round,  saw  a  horseman 
riding  hard  after  them.  They  drew  up,  and  soon 
the  man — a  Rider  of  the  Plains — was  beside 
them.  He  had  stopped  at  Throng's  to  find 
Halby,  and  had  followed  them.  Murder  had 
been  committed  near  the  border,  and  Halby  was 
needed  at  once.  Halby  stood  still,  numb  with 
distress,  for  there  was  Lydia.  He  turned  to 
Pierre  in  dismay.  Pierre's  face  lighted  up  with 
the  spirit  of  fresh  adventure.  Desperate  enter- 
prises roused  him ;  the  impossible  had  a  charm 
for  him. 

"  I  will  go  to  Fort  O'Battle,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  another  pistol." 

"You  cannot  do  it  alone,"  said  Halby,  hope, 
however,  in  his  voice. 

"  I  will  do  it,  or  it  will  do  me,  voila!  "  Pierre 
replied. 

Halby  passed  over  a  pistol. 

"  I  '11  never  forget  it,  on  my  honour!  if  you 
do  it,"  he  said. 

Pierre  mounted  his  horse  and  said,  as  if  a 
thought  had  struck  him  :  "If  I  stand  for  the 


184  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

law  in  this,  will  you  stand  against  it  some  time 
forme?" 

Halby  hesitated,  then  said,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "  Yes,  if  it 's  nothing  dirty." 

Pierre  smiled.  "  Clean  tit  for  clean  tat,"  he 
said,  touching  Halby's  fingers,  and  then,  with  a 
gesture  and  an  au  revoir,  put  his  horse  to  the 
canter,  and  soon  a  surf  of  snow  was  rising  at  two 
points  on  the  prairie,  as  the  Law  trailed  south 
and  east. 

That  night  Pierre  camped  in  the  Jim-a-long- 
Jo,  finding  there  firewood  in  plenty,  and  Tophet 
was  made  comfortable  in  the  lean-to.  Within 
another  thirty  hours  he  was  hid  in  the  woods 
behind  Fort  O'Battle,  having  traveled  nearly  all 
night.  He  saw  the  dawn  break  and  the  begin- 
ning of  sunrise  as  he  watched  the  Fort,  growing 
every  moment  colder,  while  his  horse  trembled 
and  whinnied  softly,  suffering  also.  At  last  he 
gave  a  little  grunt  of  satisfaction,  for  he  saw 
two  men  come  out  of  the  Fort  and  go  to  the 
corral.  He  hesitated  a  minute  longer,  then 
said  :  "  I  '11  not  wait,"  patted  his  horse's  neck, 
pulled  the  blanket  closer  round  the  beast,  and 
started  for  the  Fort.  He  entered  the  yard — it 
was  empty.  He  went  to  the  door  of  the  Fort, 
opened  it,  entered,  shut  it,  locked  it  softly,  and 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  passed 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  ,185 

through  into  a  room  at  the  end  of  the  small 
hallway.  Three  men  rose  from  seats  by  the  fire 
as  he  did  so,  and  one  said:  "Hullo!  who 're 
you?"  Another  added:  "It's  Pretty  Pierre." 

Pierre  looked  at  the  table  laid  for  breakfast, 
and  said:  "Where  is  Lydia  Throng  ?" 

The  elder  of  the  three  brothers  replied  : 
"There's  no  Lydia  Throng  here.  There's 
Lydia  Bontoff,  though,  and  in  another  week 
she  '11  be  Lydia  something  else." 

"  What  does  she  say  about  it  herself?" 

"  You  've  no  call  to  know." 

"  You  stole  her,  forced  her  from  Throng's — 
her  father's  house." 

"  She  was  n't  Throng's  ;  she  was  a  Bontoff — 
sister  of  us." 

"  Well,  she  says  Throng,  and  Throng  it 's  got 
to  be." 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Lydia  appeared  at  the  door 
leading  from  the  kitchen. 

"  Whatever  she  has  to  say,"  answered  Pierre. 

"  Who  're  you  talking  for  ?  " 

"  For  her,  for  Throng,  for  the  law." 

"  The  law — by  gosh,  that 's  good  !  You, 
you  darned  gambler ;  you  scum  ! "  said  Caleb, 
the  brother  who  knew  him. 

Pierre  showed    all   the   intelligent,   resolute 


1 86          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

coolness  of  a  trained  officer  of  the  law.  He 
heard  a  little  cry  behind  him,  and  stepping 
sideways  and  yet  not  turning  his  back  on  the 
men,  he  saw  Lydia. 

"Pierre!  Pierre!"  she  said  in  a  half-fright- 
ened way,  yet  with  a  sort  of  pleasure  lighting 
up  her  face;  and  she  stepped  forward  to  him. 
One  of  the  brothers  was  about  to  pull  her  away, 
but  Pierre  whipped  out  his  commission. 
"Wait! "he  said.  "That's  enough.  I'm  for 
the  law;  I  belong  to  the  mounted  police.  I 
have  come  for  the  girl  you  stole." 

The  elder  brother  snatched  the  paper  and 
read.  Then  he  laughed  loud  and  long.  "  So 
you've  come  to  fetch  her  away,"  he  said,  "and 
this  is  how  you  do  it !" — he  shook  the  paper. 
"Well,  by — "  suddenly  he  stopped.  "Come," 
he  said,  "have  a  drink,  and  don't  be  a  dam* 
fool.  She's  our  sister — old  Throng  stole  her — 
and  she's  goin'  to  marry  our  partner.  Here, 
Caleb,  fish  out  the  brandy-wine,"  he  added  to 
his  younger  brother,  who  went  to  a  cupboard 
and  brought  the  bottle. 

Pierre,  waving  the  liquor  away,  said  quietly 
to  the  girl  :  "  You  wish  to  go  back  to  your 
father,  to  Jimmy  Throng?"  He  then  gave  her 
Throng's  message,  and  added  :  "  He  sits  there 
rocking  in  the  big  chair,  and  coughing  — 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  187 

coughing!  and  then  there's  the  picture  on 
the  wall  upstairs  and  the  little  ivory  brush — " 

She  put  out  her  hands  towards  him.  "  I  hate 
them  all  here,"  she  said.  "  I  never  knew  them. 
They  forced  me  away.  I  have  no  father  but 
Jimmy  Throng.  I  will  not  stay,"  she  flashed 
out  in  sudden  anger  to  the  others  ;  "  I  '11  kill 
myself  and  all  of  you  before  I  marry  that 
Borotte." 

Pierre  could  hear  a  man  tramping  about  up- 
stairs. Caleb  knocked  on  the  stove-pipe,  and 
called  to  him  to  come  down.  Pierre  guessed  it 
was  Borotte.  This  would  add  one  more  factor 
to  the  game.  He  must  move  at  once.  He  sud- 
denly slipped  a  pistol  into  the  girl's  hand,  and, 
with  a  quick  word  to  her,  stepped  towards  the 
door.  The  elder  brother  sprang  between  — 
which  was  what  he  looked  for.  By  this  time 
every  man  had  a  weapon  showing,  snatched  from 
wall  and  shelf. 

Pierre  was  cool.  He  said  :  "  Remember,  I 
am  for  the  law.  I  am  not  one  man.  You  are 
thieves  now ;  if  you  fight  and  kill,  you  will  get 
the  rope,  every  one.  Move  from  the  door,  or 
I'll  fire.  The  girl  comes  with  me."  He  had 
heard  a  door  open  behind  him,  now  there  was 
an  oath  and  a  report,  and  a  bullet  grazed  his 
cheek  and  lodged  in  the  wall  beyond.  He  dared 


1 88           An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

not  turn  round,  for  the  other  men  were  facing 
him.  He  did  not  move,  but  the  girl  did. 
"  Coward  !  "  she  said,  and  raised  her  pistol  at 
Borotte,  standing  with  her  back  against  Pierre's. 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  no  one  stirred, 
and  then  the  girl,  slowly  walking  up  to  Borotte, 
her  pistol  levelled,  said  :  "You  low  coward — to 
shoot  a  man  from  behind  ;  and  you  want  to  be 
a  decent  girl's  husband  !  These  men  that  say 
they're  my  brothers,  are  brutes,  but  you're  a 
sneak.  If  you  stir  a  step,  I'll  fire." 

The  cowardice  of  Borotte  was  almost  ridi- 
culous. He  dared  not  harm  the  girl,  and  her 
brothers  could  not  prevent  her  harming  him. 
Here  there  came  a  knocking  at  the  front  door. 
The  other  brothers  had  come  and  found  it 
locked.  Pierre  saw  the  crisis,  and  acted  instantly. 
"The  girl  and  I  —  we  will  fight  you  to  the 
end,"  he  said,  "  and  then  what's  left  of  you  the 
law  will  fight  to  the  end.  Come,"  he  added, 
"the  old  man  can't  live  a  week.  When  he's 
gone  then  you  can  try  again.  She  will  have 
what  he  owns.  Quick,  or  I  arrest  you  all,  and 
then  —  " 

"  Let  her  go,"  said  Borotte;  "  it  ain't  no 
use." 

Presently  the  elder  brother  broke  out  laugh- 
ing. "  Damned  if  I  thought  the  girl  had  the 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  189 

pluck,  an'  damned  if  I  thought  Borotte  was  a 
crawler.  Put  an  eye  out  of  him,  Liddy,  an' 
come  to  your  brother's  arms.  Here,"  he  added 
to  the  others,  "  up  with  your  popguns;  this 
shindy's  off;  and  the  girl  goes  back  till  the  old 
man  tucks  up.  Have  a  drink!"  he  added  to 
Pierre,  as  he  stood  his  rifle  in  a  corner  and  came 
to  the  table. 

In  half  an  hour  Pierre  and  the  girl  were  on 
their  way,  leaving  Borotte  quarrelling  with  the 
brothers,  and  all  drinking  heavily.  The  two 
arrived  at  Throng's  late  the  next  afternoon. 
There  had  been  a  slight  thaw  during  the  day, 
and  the  air  was  almost  soft,  water  dripping  from 
the  eaves  down  the  long  icicles. 

When  Lydia  entered,  the  old  man  was  dozing 
in  his  chair.  The  sound  of  an  axe  out  behind 
the  house  told  where  Due  was.  The  whisky- 
and-herbs  was  beside  the  sick  man's  chair,  and 
his  feet  were  wrapped  about  with  bearskins.  The 
girl  made  a  little  gesture  of  pain,  and  then 
stepped  softly  over  and,  kneeling,  looked  into 
Throng's  face.  The  lips  were  moving. 

"Dad,"  she  said,  "are  you  asleep?" 

"I  be  a  durn  fool,  I  be,"  he  said  in  a 
whisper,  and  then  he  began  to  cough.  She  took 
his  hands.  They  were  cold,  and  she  rubbed 
them  softly.  "  I  feel  so  a'mighty  holler,"  he 


190          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

said,  gasping,  "an'  that  bread's  sour  agin."  He 
shook  his  head  pitifully. 

His  eyes  at  last  settled  on  her,  and  he  recog- 
nized her.  He  broke  into  a  giggling  laugh;  the 
surprise  was  almost  too  much  for  his  feeble  mind 
and  body.  His  hands  reached  and  clutched 
hers.  "Liddy!  Liddy! "  he  whispered,  then 
added  peevishly,  "  The  bread 's  sour  an'  the 
boneset  and  camomile  's  no  good.  .  .  .  Ain't 
to-morrow  bakin'-day?  "  he  added. 

"  Yes,  dad,"  she  said,  smoothing  his  hands. 

"What  danged  —  liars — they  be  —  Liddy! 
You  're  my  gel,  ain't  ye?" 

"Yes,  dad.  I'll  make  some  boneset  liquor 
now." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  with  childish  eagerness 
and  a  weak,  wild  smile.  "  That 's  it — that 's  it." 

She  was  about  to  rise,  but  he  caught  her 
shoulder.  "  I  bin  a  good  dad  to  ye,  hain't  I, 
Liddy?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Always." 

"Never  had  no  ma  but  Manette,  did  ye?" 

"  Never,  dad." 

"What  danged  liars  they  be!"  he  said, 
chuckling. 

She  kissed  him,  and  moved  away  to  the  fire 
to  pour  hot  water  and  whisky  on  the  herbs. 

His  eyes  followed  her  proudly,  shining  like 


A  Romany  of  the  Snows  191 

wet  glass  in  the  sun.  He  laughed — such  a 
wheezing,  soundless  laugh  ! 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  I  ain't  no — durn — fool — 
bless — the  Lord  ! "  he  said. 

Then  the  shining  look  in  his  eyes  became  a 
grey  film,  and  the  girl  turned  round  suddenly, 
for  the  long,  wheezy  breathing  had  stopped.  She 
ran  to  him,  and,  lifting  up  his  head,  saw  the 
look  that  makes  even  the  fool  seem  wise  in  his 
cold  stillness.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the  floor, 
laid  her  head  against  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and 
wept. 

It  was  very  quiet  inside.  From  without  there 
came  the  twang  of  an  axe,  and  a  man's  voice 
talking  to  his  horse.  When  the  man  came  in 
he  lifted  the  girl  up,  and,  to  comfort  her,  bade 
her  go  look  at  a  picture  hanging  in  her  little 
room.  After  she  was  gone  he  lifted  the  body, 
put  it  on  a  couch  and  cared  for  it. 


The  Plunderer 

It  was  no  use  :  men  might  come  and  go  be- 
fore her,  but  Kitty  Cline  hadleyes  for  only  one 
man.  Pierre  made  no  show  of  liking  her,  and 
thought,  at  first,  that  hers  was  a  passing  fancy. 
He  soon  saw  differently.  There  was  that  look 
in  her  eyes  which  burms  conviction  as  deep 
as  the  furnace  from  which  it  comes :  the  hot, 
shy,  hungering  look  of  desire ;  most  childlike, 
painfully  infinite.  He  would  rather  have  faced 
the  cold  mouth  of  a  pistol ;  for  he  felt  how 
it  would  end.  He  might  be  beyond  wish  to 
play  the  lover,  but  he  knew  that  every  man  can 
endure  being  loved.  He  also  knew  that  some 
are  possessed — a  dream,  a  spell,  what  you  will — 
for  their  life  long.  Kitty  Cline  was  one  of 
these. 

He  thought  he  must  go  away,  but  he  did  not. 
From  the  hour  he  decided  to  stay  misfortune  be- 
gan. Willie  Haslam,  the  clerk  at  the  Com- 
pany's Post,  had  learned  a  trick  or  two  at  cards 
in  the  east,  and  imagined  that  he  could,  as  he 
said  himself  "  roast  the  cock  o'  the  roost " — 

192 


The  Plunderer  193 

meaning  Pierre.  He  did  so  for  one  or  two 
evenings,  and  then  Pierre  had  a  sudden  increase 
of  luck  (or  design),  and  the  lad,  seeing  no 
chance  of  redeeming  the  I.  O.  U.,  representing 
two  years'  salary,  went  down  to  the  house  where 
Kitty  Cline  lived,  and  shot  himself  on  the  door- 
step. 

He  had  had  the  misfortune  to  prefer  Kitty  to 
the  other  girls  at  Guidon  Hill — though  Nellie 
Sanger  would  have  been  as  much  to  him,  if 
Kitty  had  been  easier  to  win*  The  two  things 
together  told  hard  against  Pierre.  Before,  he 
might  have  gone ;  in  the  face  of  difficulty  he 
certainly  would  not  go.  Willie  Haslam's  funeral 
was  a  public  function  :  he  was  young,  innocent- 
looking,  handsome,  and  the  people  did  not 
know  what  Pierre  would  not  tell  now — that  he 
had  cheated  grossly  at  cards.  Pierre  was  sure, 
before  Liddall,  the  surveyor,  told  him,  that  a 
movement  was  apace  to  give  him  trouble — pos- 
sibly fatal. 

"  You  had  better  go! "  said  Liddall ;  "  there 's 
no  use  tempting  Providence." 

"  They  are  tempting  the  devil,"  was  the  cool 
reply ;  "  and  that  is  not  all  joy,  as  you  shall 
see." 

He  stayed.  For  a  time  there  was  no  demon- 
stration on  either  side.  He  came  and  went 


194          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

through  the  streets,  and  was  found  at  his  usual 
haunts,  to  observers  as  cool  and  nonchalant  as 
ever.  He  was  a  changed  man,  however.  He 
never  got  away  from  the  look  in  Kitty  Cline's 
eyes.  He  felt  the  thing  wearing  on  him,  and  he 
hesitated  to  speculate  on  the  result ;  but  he 
knew  vaguely  that  it  would  end  in  disaster. 
There  is  a  kind  of  corrosion  which  eats  the 
granite  out  of  the  blood,  and  leaves  fever. 

"What  is  the  worst  thing  that  can  happen  a 
man,  eh?"  he  said  to  Liddall  one  day,  after 
having  spent  a  few  minutes  with  Kitty  Cline. 

Liddall  was  an  honest  man.  He  knew  the 
world  tolerably  well.  In  writing  once  to  his 
partner  in  Montreal  he  had  spoken  of  Pierre  as 
"an  admirable,  interesting  scoundrel."  Once 
when  Pierre  called  him  "mon  ami,"  and  asked 
him  to  come  and  spend  an  evening  in  his 
cottage,  he  said : 

"Yes,  I  will  go.  But  —  pardon  me  —  not  as 
your  friend.  Let  us  be  plain  with  each  other. 
I  never  met  a  man  of  your  stamp  before — " 

"A  professional  gambler — yes?    £ien?" 

"  You  interest  me ;  I  like  you ;  you  have 
great  cleverness — " 

"  A  priest  once  told  me  I  had  a  great  brain 
— there  is  a  difference.  Well  ?" 

"You  are  like  no  man  I  ever  met  before. 


The  Plunderer  195 

Yours  is  a  life  like  none  I  ever  knew.  I  would 
rather  talk  with  you  than  with  any  other  man  in 
the  country,  and  yet  — " 

"And  yet  you  would  not  take  me  to  your 
home  ?  That  is  all  right.  I  expect  nothing. 
I  accept  the  terms.  I  know  what  I  am  and 
what  you  are.  I  like  men  who  are  square.  You 
would  go  out  of  your  way  to  do  me  a  good 
turn." 

It  was  on  his  tongue  to  speak  of  Kitty  Cline, 
but  he  hesitated :  it  was  not  fair  to  the  girl,  he 
thought,  though  what  he  had  intended  was  for 
her  good.  He  felt  he  had  no  right  to  assume 
that  Liddall  knew  how  things  were.  The 
occasion  slipped  by. 

But  the  same  matter  had  been  in  his  mind 
when,  later,  he  asked,  "  What  is  the  worst  thing 
that  can  happen  a  man  ?  " 

Liddall  looked  at  him  long,  and  then  said  : 
"To  stand  between  two  fires." 

Pierre  smiled:  it  was  an  answer  after  his  own 
heart.  Liddall  remembered  it  very  well  in  the 
future. 

"  What  is  the  thing  to  do  in  such  a  case  ?  " 
Pierre  asked. 

"It  is  not  good  to  stand  still." 

"  But  what  if  you  are  stunned,  or  do  not 
care  ?  " 


196          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

"You  should  care.  It  is  not  wise  to  strain  a 
situation." 

Pierre  rose,  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
once  or  twice,  then  stood  still,  his  arms  folded, 
and  spoke  in  a  low  tone.  "  Once  in  the  Rockies 
I  was  lost.  I  crept  into  a  cave  at  night.  I 
knew  it  was  the  nest  of  some  wild  animal ;  but 
I  was  nearly  dead  with  hunger  and  fatigue.  I 
fell  asleep.  When  I  woke — it  was  towards 
morning  —  I  saw  two  yellow  stars  glaring  where 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  had  been.  They  were  all 
hate  :  like  nothing  you  could  imagine :  passion 
as  it  is  first  made — yes.  There  was  also  a 
rumbling  sound.  It  was  terrible,  and  yet  I  was 
not  scared.  Hate  need  not  disturb  you  —  I  am 
a  quick  shot.  I  killed  that  mountain  lion,  and 
I  ate  the  haunch  of  deer  I  dragged  from  under 
her  ...  " 

He  turned  now,  and,  facing  the  doorway, 
looked  out  upon  the  village,  to  the  roof  of  a  house 
which  they  both  knew.  "  Hate,"  he  said,  "  is 
not  the  most  wonderful  thing.  I  saw  a  woman 
look  once  as  though  she  could  lose  the  whole 
world — and  her  own  soul.  She  was  a  good  wo- 
man. The  man  was  bad — most:  he  never  could 
be  anything  else.  A  look  like  that  breaks  the 
nerve.  It  is  not  amusing.  In  time  the  man 


The  Plunderer  197 

goes  to  pieces.  But  before  that  comes  he  is  apt 
to  do  strange  things.  Eh,  so  ! " 

He  sat  down,  and  with  his  finger,  wrote  mus- 
ingly in  the  dust  upon  the  table. 

Liddall  looked  keenly  at  him,  and  replied 
more  brusquely  than  he  felt:  "  Do  you  think  it 
fair  to  stay — fair  to  her  ?  " 

"What  if  I  should  take  her  with  me?" 
Pierre  flashed  a  keen,  searching  look  after  the 
words. 

"  It  would  be  useless  devilry." 

"  Let  us  drink,"  said  Pierre,  as  he  came  to  his 
feet  quickly  ;  "  then  for  the  House  of  Lords " 
(the  new  and  fashionable  tavern). 

They  separated  in  the  street,  and  Pierre  went 
to  the  House  of  Lords  alone.  He  found  a  num- 
ber of  men  gathered  before  a  paper  pasted  on  a 
pillar  of  the  verandah.  Hearing  his  own  name, 
he  came  nearer.  A  ranchman  was  reading  aloud 
an  article  from  a  newspaper  printed  two  hundred 
miles  away.  The  article  was  headed  "A  Villain- 
ous Plunderer."  It  had  been  written  by  some 
one  at  Guidon  Hill.  All  that  was  discreditable 
in  Pierre's  life  it  set  forth  with  rude  clearness; 
he  was  credited  with  nothing  pardonable.  In 
the  crowd  there  were  mutterings  unmistakable 
to  Pierre.  He  suddenly  came  among  them, 


198          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

caught  a  revolver  from  his  pocket,  and  shot  over 
the  reader's  shoulder  six  times  into  the  pasted 
strip  of  newspaper. 

The  men  dropped  back.  They  were  not  pre- 
pared for  warlike  measures  at  the  moment. 
Pierre  leaned  his  back  against  the  pillar  and 
waited.  His  silence  and  coolness,  together  with 
an  iron  fierceness  in  his  face,  held  them  from 
instant  demonstration  against  him;  but  he  knew 
that  he  must  face  active  peril  soon.  He  pocketed 
his  revolver  and  went  up  the  hill  to  the  house  of 
Kitty  Cline's  mother.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  been  there.  At  the  door  he  hesitated, 
but  knocked  presently,  and  was  admitted  by 
Kitty,  who,  at  sight  of  him,  turned  faint  with 
sudden  joy,  and  grasped  the  lintel  to  steady 
herself. 

Pierre  quietly  caught  her  about  the  waist,  and 
shut  the  door.  She  recovered,  and  gently  dis- 
engaged herself.  He  made  no  further  advance, 
and  they  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a  min- 
ute; he,  as  one  who  had  come  to  look  at  some- 
thing good  he  was  never  to  see  again;  she  as  at 
something  she  hoped  to  see  forever.  They  had 
never  before  been  where  no  eyes  could  observe 
them.  He  ruled  his  voice  to  calmness. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I  have 
come  to  say  good-bye." 


The  Plunderer  199 

Her  eyes  never  wavered  from  his.  Her  voice 
was  scarce  above  a  whisper. 

"  Why  do  you  go  ?     Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  I  have  been  here  too  long.  I  am  what  they 
call  a  villain  and  a  plunderer.  I  am  going  to — 
man  Dieu,  I  do  not  know!  "  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  smiled  with  a  sort  of  helpless  dis- 
dain. 

She  leaned  her  hands  on  the  table  before  her. 
Her  voice  was  still  that  low,  clear  murmur. 

"  What  people  say  does  n't  matter."  She 
staked  her  all  upon  her  words.  She  must  speak 
them,  though  she  might  hate  herself  afterwards. 
"  Are  you  going  alone  ?  " 

"Where  I  may  have  to  go  I  must  travel 
alone." 

He  could  not  meet  her  eyes  now :  he  turned 
his  head  away.  He  almost  hoped  she  would  not 
understand. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  added ;  "  I  want  to  tell  you 
of  my  life." 

He  believed  that  telling  it  as  he  should,  she 
would  be  horror-stricken,  and  that  the  deep 
flame  would  die  out  of  her  eyes.  Neither  he  nor 
she  knew  how  long  they  sat  there,  he  telling  with 
grim  precision  of  the  evil  life  he  had  led.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  before  her,  and  she  shud' 


2OO          An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

dered  once  or  twice,  so  that  he  paused ;  but  she 
asked  him  firmly  to  go  on. 

When  all  was  told  he  stood  up.  He  could 
not  see  her  face,  but  he  heard  her  say : 

"You  have  forgotten  many  things  that  were 
not  bad.  Let  me  say  them."  She  named  things 
that  would  have  done  honor  to  a  better  man. 
He  was  standing  in  the  moonlight  that  came 
through  the  window.  She  stepped  forward,  her 
hands  quivering  out  to  him.  "  Oh,  Pierre,"  she 
said,  "  I  know  why  you  tell  me  this ;  but  it  makes 
no  difference — none.  I  will  go  with  you  where- 
ever  you  go." 

He  caught  her  hands  in  his.  She  was  stronger 
than  he  was  now.  Her  eyes  mastered  him.  A 
low  cry  broke  from  him,  and  he  drew  her  almost 
fiercely  into  his  arms. 

"  Pierre  !  Pierre ! "  was  all  she  could  say. 

He  kissed  her  again  and  again  upon  the  mouth. 
As  he  did  so,  he  heard  footsteps  and  muffled 
voices  without.  Putting  her  quickly  from  him, 
he  sprang  towards  the  door,  threw  it  open, 
closed  it  behind  him,  and  drew  his  revolver.  A 
half-dozen  men  faced  him.  Two  bullets  whis- 
tled by  his  head,  and  lodged  in  the  door.  Then 
he  fired  swiftly,  shot  after  shot,  and  three  men 
fell.  His  revolvers  were  empty.  There  were 
three  men  left.  The  case  seemed  all  against 


The  Plunderer  2O1 

him  now,  but  just  here  a  shot,  and  then  another, 
came  from  the  window,  and  a  fourth  man  fell. 
Pierre  sprang  upon  one,  and  the  other  turned 
and  ran.  There  was  a  short,  sharp  struggle :  then 
Pierre  rose  up — alone. 

The  girl  stood  in  the  doorway.       "  Come,  my 
dear,"  he  said,  "you  must  go  with  me  now." 

"  Yes,  Pierre,"  she  cried,  a  mad  light  in  her 
face.  "  I  have  killed  men  too — for  you." 

Together  they  ran  down  the  hillside,  and 
made  for  the  stables  of  the  Fort.  People  were 
hurrying  through  the  long  street  of  the  town, 
and  torches  were  burning,  but  they  came  by  a 
roundabout  to  the  stables  safely.  Pierre  was 
about  to  enter,  when  a  man  came  out.  It  was 
Liddall.  He  kept  his  horses  there,  and  he  had 
saddled  one,  thinking  that  Pierre  might  need  it. 

There  were  quick  words  of  explanation,  and 
then  "  Must  the  girl  go  too  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It 
will  increase  the  danger — besides — " 

"  I  am  going  wherever  he  goes,"  she  inter- 
rupted hoarsely  ;  "  I  have  killed  men  ;  he  and  I 
are  the  same  now." 

Without  a  word  Liddall  turned  back,  threw  a 
saddle  on  another  horse,  and  led  it  out  quickly. 
"  Which  way  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  and  where  shall  I 
find  the  horses  ?  " 

"  West  to  the  mountains.      The  horses  you 


2O2  An  Adventurer  of  the  North 

will  find  at  T£te  Blanche  Hill,  if  we  get  there. 
If  not,  there  is  money  under  the  white  pine  at  my 
cottage.  Good  bye  !  " 

They  galloped  away.  But  there  were  mounted 
men  in  the  main  street,  and  one,  well  ahead  of 
the  others,  was  making  towards  the  bridge  over 
which  they  must  pass.  He  reached  it  before 
they  did,  and  set  his  horse  crosswise  in  its  nar- 
row entrance.  Pierre  urged  his  mare  in  front  of 
the  girl's  and  drove  straight  at  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  the  obstructing  horse.  His  was  the 
heavier  animal,  and  it  bore  the  other  down.  The 
rider  fired  as  he  fell,  but  missed,  and,  in  an 
instant,  Pierre  and  the  girl  were  over.  The 
fallen  man  fired  the  second  time,  but  again  missed. 
They  had  a  fair  start,  but  the  open  prairie  was 
ahead  of  them,  and  there  was  no  chance  to  hide. 
Riding  must  do  all,  for  their  pursuers  were  in 
full  cry.  For  an  hour  they  rode  hard.  They 
could  see  their  hunters  not  very  far  in  the  rear. 
Suddenly  Pierre  started  and  sniffed  the  air. 

"The  prairie's  on  fire  !"  he  said  exultingly, 
defiantly. 

Almost  as  he  spoke,  clouds  ran  down  the 
horizon,  and  then  the  sky  lighted  up.  The  fire 
travelled  with  incredible  swiftness  ;  they  were 
hastening  to  meet  it.  It  came  on  wave-like, 
hurrying  down  at  the  right  and  the  left  as  if  to 


The  Plunderer  203 

close  in  on  them.  The  girl  spoke  no  word ; 
she  had  no  fear  :  what  Pierre  did  she  would  do. 
He  turned  round  to  see  his  pursuers :  they  had 
wheeled  and  were  galloping  back  the  way  they 
came.  His  horse  and  hers  were  travelling  neck 
and  neck.  He  looked  at  her  with  an  intense, 
eager  gaze. 

"Will  you  ride  on?"  he  asked  eagerly. 
"We  are  between  two  fires."  He  smiled,  re- 
membering his  words  to  Liddall. 

"  Ride  on!  "  she  urged  in  a  strong,  clear  voice, 
a  kind  of  wild  triumph  in  it.  "  You  shall  not 
go  alone." 

There  ran  into  his  eyes  now  the  same  infi- 
nite look  that  had  been  in  hers  —  that  had  con- 
quered him.  The  flame  rolling  towards  them 
was  not  brighter  or  hotter. 

"  For  heaven  or  hell,  my  girl !"  he  cried,  and 
they  drove  their  horses  on  —  on. 

Far  behind  upon  a  divide  the  flying  hunters 
from  Guidon  Hill  paused  for  a  moment.  They 
saw  with  hushed  wonder  and  awe  a  man  and 
woman,  dark  and  weird  against  the  red  light, 
ride  madly  into  the  flicking  surf  of  fire. 


J£^™  S£?.°NAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  778  962 


